


A Trip Down Memory Lane

by MariusAngelicaSue



Series: An Unlikely Trio [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 3 new characters came out before i finished the first chapter lord help me, Background Relationships, But assume you’ll see the rest of the squad at least briefly, Gen, Overwatch Retribution, Time Travel, heaping heck’s of dramatic irony, more characters will be added as they appear - Freeform, only major characters will be tagged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2019-11-03 16:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17881463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariusAngelicaSue/pseuds/MariusAngelicaSue
Summary: Sombra uses her blueprints of Tracer’s chrono accelerator in an attempt to make a weapon that could send someone into the future. Predictably, it doesn’t work quite as expected.AKA, a time travel AU that DOESN’T have Reaper76, for the both of you that wanted it.Reading any previous works from this series isn't required, they're referenced briefly





	1. Milkshakes, Mornings, and Making Fun of McCree

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another story where I throw Mercy into an adventure and boost her sass levels to a 9, now with a different wanted criminal by her side. Hope y’all enjoy, I’ve been making plans for this since I was just a few chapters into Road Trip

McCree wasn’t sure what he was doing when he suddenly found himself at the door of Angela (should he call her that? It’d been years since they’d seen each other. You know what, he’d just call her Doctor Ziegler)’s small office, his hand clenched in a fist and raised. He paused for a moment, wondering if he was really going to do this, before thinking  _ fuck it  _ and knocking semi-gently on the door. 

“Come in,” a voice sounded from inside, one that sounded characteristically exhausted, but not yet realizing that they sounded that bad. McCree quietly opened the door, walking in to see Ziegler sitting in a chair, her back to him and seemingly deeply engrossed in a task. The room was surprisingly tidy, with the binders and books on the shelves ordered neatly (and alphabetically, if he looked closer). On the top of one of the shelves was a large special-edition pachimari with a shoddy stitching job on its face, along with Ziegler’s halo and staff. The rest of her combat armor was hung up in the corner. Contrasting against the tidiness of the rest of the room though, was Ziegler’s desk, and by extension the doctor herself. Papers were scattered underneath the too-bright lamplight, the cup of pencils and pens knocked over, and a coffee maker next to an empty mug with a cat with a halo on it. Ziegler’s hair was tied up in a messy bun, her head leaning in on a hand, and her clothing was wrinkled and unkempt. If she turned around, McCree guessed he’d see dark bags underneath her eyes, as the many tossed coffee filters in the trash next to her chair suggested that she hadn’t been sleeping that much. 

She really didn’t seem to have changed that much from Overwatch’s old days, it seemed. McCree knew that she’d be able to easily work like this for more than twenty-four hours if she was left alone. If he recalled correctly, her record time had been approaching seventy-two hours before Captain Amari caught wind of the situation and hit her with a sleep dart. Luckily, Angela didn’t seem to have been working that long, so there was time to make her take a break at a more reasonable moment. 

McCree still hated to interrupt Ziegler when she had this momentum though, and the cough he gave to catch her attention was so awkward he cringed to himself. 

Ziegler stood up and turned to look at him and yep, she had dark-ass bags under those pale blue eyes. She still had the energy to smile at him though, so that was a good sign. “McCree.”

“Doctor,” McCree nodded. “What’re you working on there?”

“Oh, this?” Ziegler gestured towards her collage of papers as McCree walked up to her shoulder to see them. The print was tiny, and after a few moments of squinting McCree gave up on trying to read the text and opted to just wait for the doctor to explain what it all was. 

“I was just juggling some paperwork with these medical reports here, as well as working on improvements for my armor,” Ziegler swept a few of the papers aside to reveal sketches and blueprints underneath. “They’re supposed to be able to resist Sombra’s hacking.”

McCree raised his eyebrows at the complexity of the designs, before glancing over to the armor hanging in the corner. “You already worked on it?” 

“No, I’m just designing the plans for now. I plan on trying and implementing them later tonight. Oh! And that reminds me!” Ziegler’s eyes widened, and she stood up out of her chair. “I was also planning on incorporating these firewall programs into my nanomachines as well, since Sombra has managed to hack them before!”

McCree’s eyebrows climbed further up his forehead. “Nanowhat?”

“I’ll need to see how well they work in the armor before I can even begin thinking of applying a similar program to them, though,” Ziegler mumbled to herself, seemingly not realizing McCree had asked a question. “You come by when I’ve finally got everything ready for testing, I—“

“Doctor,” McCree cut in, raising a hand, and she looked up at him in shock, almost as if she’d just realized he was still there and hadn’t left ages ago.

Slowly and calmly, McCree placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch making her tremble a little.  _ God damn, she’s already this unstable? She can barely stand up.  _ McCree sighed. “Doctor, it’s two in the morning right now. When were you planning on stopping this?”

The doctor glanced away, thinking on the question. “Well, probably once I’d figured out how to resist Sombra’s hacking, at the very least in the nanomachines. It almost killed me last time.”

“And how long would that take?”

“Oh, probably another six or seven hours or so, if I wanted to be conservative.”

“That’s it,” McCree leaned back. “I’m callin’ it now, you’re taking a break.”

“What?”

“You’re. Taking. A break.”

“I heard you, McCree,” Ziegler raised an eyebrow. “What kind of break are you thinking of, though?”

McCree shrugged, rocking a little on his feet. “Somethin’ that definitely involves you eating or drinking,” he thought aloud. “We’re grabbing something from the mess hall, preferably with sugar—do we still have any moon pies left? There might be one left if we’re lucky. And how do you feel about milkshakes?”

“Milkshakes?” Ziegler turned her head a little. 

McCree nodded. “I’ve been in the mood for a milkshake a good while. How about it?”

“It all sounds terribly unhealthy, McCree.” Ziegler gave what sounded like half a sigh and half a very, very tired laugh. 

“Hm, alright, ya got me there, staying awake is  _ much  _ better for you. How about this? You take a half hour nap and I’ll add some carrots and apples into that snack.”

This time the doctor let out an actual, full laugh, even if it was a little short lived. “Alright, I suppose it doesn’t sound like too terrible of a deal. You’ll have to keep your word on those carrots though, understand? They’re good for-“

“Helping fill ya up, I  _ know  _ doctor,” McCree grinned. “I’m not gonna be up at 2 AM forever, you know, so I’d say it’s best you take that nap now.”

“Alright, alright, if you’re that impatient,” Ziegler raised her hands in mock surrender as she began to back away from the chair. 

The cloth of her skin was sticking to her legs, and showing how long she’d been sitting in that chair. As the doctor began to shamble her way out of the room, she passed McCree to reach the door and opened it. She stopped to stare at him, the open door before the two of them, and after a few seconds of silence McCree realized she was waiting for something. “What?”

“I’m locking up my office before I leave,” Ziegler explained, her tone still light but clearly a little impatient with McCree. “You can’t exactly make a milkshake if you’re stuck in here, hm?”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” McCree scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment as he stepped through the doorway, and Ziegler followed suit before pulling out a pair of keys and locking the door. 

It almost seemed like a physical weight had shifted and fallen off her shoulders the moment the lock clicked in place, as if the office itself had its own gravity. She gave a sigh of relief, before running a hand through her messy hair. “By the way,” she spoke up, barely turning her head so she could look at McCree with the corner of her eye. “There’s no need to call me ‘Doctor Ziegler’ or anything like that, McCree. We’ve known each other for almost twenty years, I think we’ve passed that point.”

“Fine, and you don’t have to call me ‘McCree’ if you don’t want to.”

“Please, and miss out on a chance to say the most American name with my own lips? Sorry, I’ll stick with it,” she began to walk down the hallway, and McCree followed suit. 

He tipped his hat a little, smiling. “Aw, you think my name’s that American? Glad to know I picked the right outfit, then.”

Angela smirked a little. “I suppose you’ve got a name fitting for a cowboy, but I was more referring as to how it sounds like something I’d find on a McDonald’s menu after a  _ really  _ desperate attempt at a new product.”

McCree put a hand on his chest, offended. “It  _ what _ ?”

“Don’t worry, it’s still very American.”

“But not in the right way!”

“What, being a cowboy is better?” Angela laughed. 

“ _ It’s very much better! _ ”

“Ehhh, I’d say it’s debatable,” she waved her hand a little. 

“Yeah, well you know what’s also debatable? Me makin’ you a milkshake!”

“Oh, you were planning on making that for me?” Angela blinked. 

McCree snorted a little. “Please, if I let you handle the food you’d faceplant into it a minute in, and I do  _ not  _ want to deal with that mess right now.”

Angela was quiet for a moment. “You know, I’d argue with that, but I’m a little too tired for a rebuttal, and I suppose that proves your point, damn it.”

McCree laughed. “I s’pose that’s your cue to get that nap started, then.”

“Mhm,” Angela agreed as she stopped at one of the doors, quietly opening it up and entering. 

“Try not to read any of your books, and  _ actually sleep,  _ alright?”

Angela gave a long and quiet groan, and McCree couldn’t help but chuckle a little at it. It was a good sign, because it meant she was agreeing with him. 

At the very least, McCree hoped that Angela would sleep pretty deeply in those thirty minutes, if she didn’t end up sleeping for a bit more. 

 

-=-

 

It looked like McCree’s hope/hunch was right, it had been almost two hours by the time Angela had finally made her way to the mess hall. McCree had felt slightly annoyed, having to wait that long (and stare at two perfectly good milkshakes while he was at it), but when Angela finally turned around the corner, looking significantly better, he couldn’t help but just feel glad that she was able to get in more than the minimum sleep; he knew how much she could be on the dot when it came to making agreements to rest like this.

McCree nodded at her arrival, lifting a glass with a milkshake and orange crazy straw inside. “Your milkshake got a little lukewarm, hope you don’t mind. 

“McCree, you should know that if I’m making fun of you, it’s not going to be over your milkshake-making abilities,” Angela smiled, grabbing the glass from his hand and sitting down next to him. She took an obnoxiously loud slurp from the milkshake, resting her cheek in her hand. 

“Things’ve been going crazy in this new Overwatch, huh?” McCree casually commented, holding his own glass in front of him.

Angela silently nodded, the straw still in her mouth. McCree hesitated a moment, before returning to his usual laidback tone. “You glad I came back to see it?” He smirked a little, feeling a bit nervous at Angela’s response; she sometimes removed some of her filters when it was late at night/early in the morning like this, but he knew that it was something he had to know: it’d been killing him inside already being unsure. 

Angela pulled her mouth of the straw, making a popping noise as she did so. She tilted her head, looking at one of the corners in the mess hall as she seemingly contemplated the question. 

She pursed her lips. “I suppose I’ll admit, I missed you a  _ little. _ ” She smirked, glancing his direction. 

McCree snorted. “Couldn’t find your replacement verbal punching bag?”

“That, and this new Overwatch doesn’t have  _ nearly  _ enough Western flair here. You fit right in just as well as everyone else.”

McCree thought of the former assassin, two crazy criminals, escaped Vishkar agent, time traveling Brit, and literal gorilla and decided that Angela was being sarcastic there. He chuckled a little. “Guess I do bring something new to the pot, don’t I? Background, my style, suppose it’s all new stuff for good ole Overwatch.”

He laughed again at himself, before glancing over to see Angela thoughtfully rubbing at the few remaining droplets of condensation on her glass. The smile slowly faded from his lips and McCree began to frown as he looked at Angela’s expression; She was preparing to say something, and McCree felt his eyebrows furrow trying to figure out what. 

“Is...something bothering you?” McCree tentatively spoke up when Angela stayed silent for a little bit more. 

She blinked, being jerked out of her thoughts, before quickly shaking her head. “Oh, no, not quite, it’s just what you said got me thinking.”

“Thinking...about what?” McCree chuckled a little nervously. 

“Well, I guess thinking about how you’re right in some way; you are certainly unique in our group because of your past experiences with Overwatch. No one else here has had anything remotely similar.”

“Yeah, Winston mentioned that too. Where are you going with this?” McCree frowned. 

“I…” Angela paused, clearly nervous about saying something as she began rubbing circles on the cup again. “Could you tell me about it? What it was like, being in Blackwatch? What were the missions like? What did you usually do?

“And,” Angela paused, not looking McCree in the eye. “Where do you think it all went wrong? Where had we all messed up?”

McCree took a deep breath, resting his chin onto his folded fingers as he thought. He thought as to why Overwatch had been torn apart. It’d been through several reasons, really: the worsening public image due to Blackwatch, the increased disapproval by the UN, and infighting (and suspected sabotage) happening during all of it. 

Where had they started? What were the moments when each of these problems truly began to fall out of hand? Was it the moment Jack had gotten chosen as Strike Commander? When Genji was brought on to the team? When  _ Moira _ was? Back when Gabe had gotten that awful condition of his?

They all definitely seemed to be factors, especially considering what Gabriel ended up becoming. They were all just the more noticeable steps, though. 

“I’d say it was the mission against Antonio Bartalotti,” McCree spoke up glancing at Angela. “Y’know, the one that made the news eight years ago?”

Angela’s face fell at the mention. “How could I not forget?”

“Yeah. Not only was it a hard hit on Overwatch’s public image, what with Blackwatch being discovered an’ all, but...on that mission, the way they were all acting…” McCree stared back down at the table, the memories flowing in. “We’d failed our mission, killed Antonio in the  _ stupidest  _ way possible, revealed ourselves on security footage, and were surrounded by waves of enemies trying to kill us. 

“I was so pissed, at the situation, the fight, and Gabe most of all. Spent half my time yelling at him through the comms while we were fighting,” McCree gave a dry laugh. “I’d say the anger was justified though. But something I noticed, at the very least in hindsight: as I tried arguing with Gabe and the others, telling them how  _ wrong  _ an’ awful the entire situation was, their responses…”

 

_ “Dead is dead, McCree.” _

 

_ “Well, it seems we've had a change in methodology.” _

 

_ “I made a decision. I’ll deal with the consequences.” _

 

_ “I feel no remorse for the fate of these criminals.” _

 

_ “You seem awfully calm.” _

_ “I take it all in my stride.” _

 

_ “I thought you had the stomach for it. Looks like I was wrong.” _

 

“None of them _ cared _ , Angela. Not that we’d done something wrong and reckless, not that the mission was going haywire. While I was yelling about all the shit that’d hit the fan, they all just...kept moving. Kept killing.”

McCree gave something that was between a dry laugh and a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “Couldn’t say I was any better, though. I kept killing too, that night. Only way to get out alive after Gabe had fucked it all up. Still, I thought the others could’ve objected more to it all.”

McCree glanced back at Angela, whose gaze was fixed on him, intently listening. “Jack was so pissed when we came back and he heard what we’d done. Gabe cared as much then as he did back with Antonio. I remember, watching the two of them argue, I was wondering where Blackwatch was heading after this, and whether I wanted to see it.”

McCree took a deep breath, feeling a little emotionally drained after all that talking, and cleared his throat in an attempt to dispel the atmosphere that had settled in on their conversation. “So, um,  yeah, that’s where I think it all started going downhill. At least, it was the first big sign that something  _ wrong  _ was going on that we hadn’t noticed.”

Angela was looking ahead at the table, her eyes a thousand miles away. However, he knew she’d been listening, as her eyes flicked over to McCree after he went silent at the end of his little story. She didn’t give an immediate response though, as it seemed she was mulling over what exactly she was planning to respond with. McCree was patient, though, so he waited for her answer, curious as to what she was going to say. 

“You know, I didn’t know that much about Blackwatch, back then,” Her gaze was focused on him as she spoke. “I met Moira every now and then and I knew you of course, but the most I knew was that Blackwatch tended to do the ‘dirtier’ jobs.”

Angela sighed. “We can’t have that kind of separation in Overwatch again; it led to too much oversight, letting Moira and other Talon agents getting into our ranks.”

McCree felt his eyebrows raise a little. “Did you really know that little about Blackwatch? I was sure you at least spoke with Moira a bit more.”

Angela chewed on the inside of her cheek. “No, in all honesty, I tried avoiding her. Our views didn’t coincide at all, and I hated being around her. So yes, I really knew next to nothing about Blackwatch,” a small smile quirked the edge of her lips. “Although, I did occasionally hear Reyes complain to Jack about your fake names and identities you made for covert missions.”

“What!” 

“I heard complaints about names like ‘Griff McLaughlin’ and ‘John James.’”

“He said he liked McLaughlin!”

Angela sniggered at McCree’s outburst, snorting into her hand, and the two of them gave out a quiet sigh at her managing to lift the mood. “We’ve known each other for a generation, and at last I’m enjoying talking to you. We finally did it.”

“Oh ho, so are you actually admitting you missed me? And badly?” McCree raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“You don’t have any evidence for that claim, McCree. Trust me, I’m a doctor, I know how these things work.” Angela shot back, tapping her fingers on the table. 

She glanced down at her milkshake cup, seeing that it had emptied in the span of their conversation. She looked over at McCree, who’s cup was relatively untouched. The way she stared at him said it all.  

McCree gave an over exaggerated sigh and slid the glass over, to which Angela grinned and snatched up. “Thenk yuu,” she mumbled, her teeth around the straw. 

“Don’t blame me if you end up with cooties,” McCree grumbled, resting his chin on his palm. 

Angela grinned and nodded, continuing to slurp down the milkshake for a solid six seconds, and McCree only watched in morbid fascination as the entire thing vanished in that time. 

“Ahhh,” Angela sighed as she finished off the drink. “Thanks for this, McCree. I really needed to break.”

_ Of course she’d call it a break. No doubt she’ll pass out in five minutes if she decides to go in her office again.  _ “Yeah, well, I’m beat,” McCree sighed, standing up in the chair. “I’m gonna see what rest I can get, and you should do the same. We’ve got that mission tomorrow, remember. Or, later today, if you wanna be like that.”

“Wait,  _ what?! _ ” Angela exclaimed, jumping up in the seat, and McCree’s mouth flattened into a thin line. Her palm hit her forehead. “That’s right! We’ve got a  _ mission _ ! Shit, I need to finish that firewall for my armor! And my  _ nanomachines! _ ”

“Angela, I’m only gonna say this once, but  _ you need to rest.  _ I pointed out that there’s a mission later to try and give you proper incentive to try and sleep.”

“Are you kidding? That’s only more of an incentive to  _ stay awake _ !”

“Oh my  _ god. _ ”

 

-=-

 

“McCree, we’re going to be moving in soon, make sure you’ve got proper cover, these guys excel in mid-range combat.”

“Got it, Winston.”

Angela switched her staff’s setting back to healing, knowing they were going to need to tank some damage soon, and suppressed a tired yawn. She’d decided to ignore McCree’s advice, although later on he was happy to know that the firewall for her nanomachines had been completed faster than expected, and Angela had decided to leave the application of it to her armor for another day. Once she finished this mission she’d finish that particular project. 

Overwatch had been sent in here in Switzerland to interrupt a believed meeting between Talon and a local crime empire. Some of their intel even said they had a chance to find a secret base Talon had created here, but so far that last part seemed to be false. 

The mission had quickly devolved into violence, the representatives of the gang having already fled, leaving some Talon underlings who decided to fight back. Their best case scenario would be to manage to capture these agents and hope they had useful information, but even with one look Angela could tell that they were just grunts, not untrusted for anything useful. If this battle was won, they’d probably just be arrested and convicted. 

Angela was snapped out of her thoughts as she heard a grunt of pain over the comms, and realized that McCree had left his on. 

“McCree! Are you alright? What’s your current location.”

“M’fine, doc, just discovered a guy hiding that decided to try and ambush me,” McCree groaned in a way that contradicted what he was saying. “‘S not a serious wound, you don’t need to move out of position to take care of me.”

“Oh, congratulations on your graduation!” Angela spoke in mock celebration.

“Erm, what?”

“Well, I was just assuming that you had recently gotten your PhD, what with that genius and clearly educated evaluation of that injury you’ve got. What kind of champagne should I bring for the party?”

“...I’m at an alley towards the right, there don’t seem to be any more hostiles.”

Angela gave a bit of a sigh, a slightly smug grin on her face as she turned her head and spotted his outline in the distance. She quickly flew over to it, stopping before she hit a wall and carefully walking around the corner and looking into the alleyway. 

McCree was leaning against the wall of the dark alley, still standing, but his hand was pressed on his left side. He gave a smile that was part sheepish, part annoyed. “You know, you don’t have to be so rude with your doctor-ing.”

Angela rolled her eyes, walking over. “I promise to be nicer as long as you have the common sense to be more aware of your personal health.”

“This, coming from someone who regularly pulls all-nighters for fun.”

“Hey, don’t change the topic,” she grabbed onto McCree’s arms and pulled them away from his torso to reveal a large red spot underneath the clothing. He hissed a little at the movement. “Hm. That’s a lot of bleeding.”

“I’m telling you, it was nothing, just one bullet,” he insisted. “It didn’t even fully hit me, it broke into my arm.”

Angela blinked, and looked over at her right hand to realize the metal arm she was holding had a large hole in it, and that the entire thing was as stiff as a board. “It shut down that quickly?”

“Thing’s been going downhill for a while, must’ve finally met its maker.”

Angela’s gaze darkened as she stared McCree down. “Then  _ why  _ didn’t you contact someone before going on this  _ dangerous mission  _ to fix it _ ,  _ rather than going on a  _ dangerous mission  _ with a rundown arm?”

McCree gave a nervous smile. “Well, um, I forgot?”

Angela tilted her head back and groaned. “Well, at the very least, the damage explains the amount of blood.”

“Really? How so?”

Without warning, Angela tore a hole into the fabric to reveal the wound, several metal pieces glinting in the distant light and buried into McCree’ skin. 

“The bullet in your metal arm must have caused it to burst and fill you with its shrapnel. Hang on, I’ll need to remove the pieces before I can close the wound.”

McCree’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape. “Alright, that shrapnel thing makes sense. Can’t believe I didn’t think of-agh!”

McCree’s sentence was cut off as Angela had pulled out a pair of tweezers from a pocket in her armor and pulled out the first piece of metal. “Fuck, doc, think you can warn me sometimes?!”

“Sorry, but we’re pushing in on the Talon agents, and you’re an important part of that. I need to make sure this delays us as little as possible,” she pulled out another one. 

McCree hissed. “Yep, yeah, alright, I see that that makes sense,” he grunted through gritted teeth. “M’ even flattered. But could you not yank that shit out like a sadistic dentist rips out a loose tooth?”

“You say that like not all dentists are sadists,” Angela replied, her voice neutral. 

McCree gave a quick laugh, although it was interrupted by another bout of pain as Angela removed two more pieces. “ _ Fuck,  _ you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Doctors aren’t dentists, McCree.”

“Well, they got a lot in common- _ fuck _ -they’re both smart with the medicine and stuff, they both make a lot of money- _ ow _ -, not to mention you both like lecturing people about their health decisions _ -ah _ !”

“As if you don’t critique people on their sharpshooting skills,” Angela pulled out the last piece. “Speaking of health, I’m all done, I’ll just close up the wound now.”

McCree’s shoulders fell in relief, and he straightened himself up against the wall. Angela looked at how his face was paler than usual with a somewhat detached sense of worry. Holding up her staff, she pressed a button and a yellow light emanated from it, zeroing in on the wound and immediately mending the internal damage and skin overtop of it. The metal plates of McCree’s biotic arm expanded, until the bullet wound was no longer visible.

McCree patted the once injured spot with his right hand, a satisfied smile on his face. It soon vanished though, as he tested his arm and found that it still couldn’t move. “Hey, uh, you think you could fix this too?”

Angela shook her head sadly. “I can only remend basic metals with my caduceus staff: the wiring in your arm was damaged, and my staff doesn’t have the proper metals to fix them. I’m sorry, but for now I’ve only fixed it to prevent the metal from cutting you up anymore, and we’ll have to wait till we get back to base to have it fully fixed.”

“Oh, well that’s just a shame, isn’t it?”

The unfamiliar third voice in their conversation made both Angela and McCree start, whirling to look up above and see the source of the sound. Angela felt her chest sink as she saw a familiar purple outfit swinging its legs on the side of the building, a purple screen in front of her clawed fingers. 

Sombra’s smug grin was as obnoxious and annoying as the last time that Angela had seen it. She didn’t have any weapons out to speak of. 

She heard a sharp intake from her side, and Angela looked over to see McCree frustratingly pressing at the comm in his ear. “She’s cut off our communications.”

Angela tested her armoured suit by trying to flair out the wings, and was both unsurprised and afraid to find them not working.  _ Sombra must have hacked into our devices while we were talking,  _ she thought with frustration, a small part of her briefly feeling relieved that she’d properly protected the nanomachines in her bloodstream before taking this mission. She quickly pulled out the pistol on the side of her waist, aiming it up at Sombra, prompting McCree to do the same with Peacekeeper. 

“Just because you’ve disabled our electronics doesn’t mean you have a chance of winning against the two of us!” She threatened. 

Sombra didn’t make a move to pull out her own gun, just chuckling and standing up. “You might be right about that, but you both have brought a knife to a gunfight.”

Sombra pulled something out from behind her back. It looked to be one of her translocators, except round and with a single hexagonal button on top that was glowing magenta. “And  _ this  _ is the gun.”

Angela found herself unable to react, but McCree was fast enough to get his bearings and shoot at Sombra, who had just pressed the button on top of the orb. She gave out a yell of pain as the bullet tore through her hand, and the orb was dropped and fell towards them. 

The orb gave a single, monotone beep, and Angela saw Sombra’s grimace of pain twist into malicious satisfaction and give a little wave of her fingers. 

“ _ Adios. _ ”

And with that, a blinding white light filled her vision, and Sombra, McCree, and the rest of the world promptly disappeared. 

 

-=-  


 

McCree could feel himself being twisted inside and out, rushing through the air at seventy miles an hour. He wanted to throw up, but it was like he was surrounded in foam, something was in his throat and blocking him. He was feeling dozens of different sensations at once, he could hardly distinguish them. Then, he heard a sharp  _ snap _ that echoed through his skull and made Mccree want to plug his ears in the desperate hope to save his hearing. 

As quickly as they appeared, they all abruptly stopped, the change jarring, as if a movie had stopped unexpectedly and you were left there with a feeling of whiplash and emptiness. 

His back collided with the hard ground, and he groaned a little at the pain throbbing in his bones. A part of him felt worried that the impact would somehow open up the wound he’d had a couple minutes ago, even though it was literally good as new. Perhaps he just still needed more time to get used to Angela’s crazy healing magic. 

Speaking of the doctor, he felt something crash into his stomach and briefly knock the air out of him, that something giving an ‘oof’ that sounded extremely much like the doctor. McCree forced his eyes open, squinting and blinking at the light, and seeing Angela splayed out across his stomach, rubbing her forehead and trying to open her own eyes as well. 

“Y’alright Angela?” McCree groaned, trying to sit up. 

“Yeah, I’m okay, just hit my forehead on the ground.” Her eyes finally pressed themselves open. “What happened to your nose?”

“Whuh?” Mccree lifted a hand to his nose to realize he could feel warmth dripping from it, and pulled his fingers away to reveal blood. “You realize yours is bleedin’ too, right?”

Angela furrowed her eyebrows, doing a similar check of the blood slowly coming out of her nostril, before furiously wiping away the whole thing on her wrist and standing up. “It’s nothing too important. Where  _ are  _ we?”

McCree briefly glanced over to see familiar brick walls. “The alley? Seemed like a grenade that Sombra threw, probably just knocked us back-“

McCree froze mid-sentence as his vision cleared and he caught a closer look at the brick walls around them.

They were far more pristine, more well taken care of. There were fewer chips and dents, and the color in them was far more vibrant, without any common graffiti to speak of. 

“McCree? What is it?” Angela asked, before he heard her give a sharp gasp as she presumably realized the same things as him. 

And that was when McCree finally properly registered the noises:  _ Talking.  _ Not commands and calls made over gunfire. Simple, casual,  _ civilian  _ conversation. He immediately jumped up onto his feet, moving himself out from Angela, and looked out at the entrance to the alleyway. 

He could see a crowd of people passing by the exit, dressed in normal clothing and chattering amongst themselves. Many of them were holding newspapers, pointing at what was inside and talking with worried expressions. 

Furrowing his eyebrows, McCree looked up at the sky, and he worriedly prodded Angela with his foot. 

Angela grunted, standing up and rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on? What is it?”

McCree pointed at the sky. “It’s early morning.”

“Wait, what?!”

They had moved out on their mission shortly after midday, and by the time the meeting had broken out into violence it was well into the afternoon. Yet now they were once again in the easily recognizable, crisp, cool morning air. 

“Were we knocked out by that grenade? Teleported? What is going  _ on _ ?” Angela murmured. 

“I don't’ even know if we were dealing with a grenade anymore, Angela,” McCree spoke up, thinking. “What kind of grenade makesyou nauseous like that?”

“I’m not sure,” Angela chewed on the inside of her cheek, and McCree almost missed what she’d said as he spotted a piece of newspaper blowing in the wind towards the edge of the alley. Being sure to act inconspicuous as he walked over, McCree picked it up, and nearly felt his heart stop as he saw the front page. 

The title displayed “heftiger Angriff aus der Overwatch,” in front of it was a picture of security footage, showing four very familiar fighting off waves of soldiers with a portrait of motherfucking Antonio Bartalotti next to it. His eyes quickly glanced up to the top corner at the date printed on the paper: April 10th, 2068.

His eyes widened, and he looked up to see everyone passing by had their own copy of the newspaper. 

“McCree? What is it? What’s on the paper?” Angela’s voice sounded from behind him as she stepped closer. 

McCree quickly shoved the paper into her hands. “Looks like these things are being mass produced right now,” he said as he heard Angela give a sharp gasp, and looked back to see her eyes wide. 

She looked back up at him, then at the passing civilians, and he saw her notice how all of them had similar copies. “But...but why? You...you don’t mean…”

McCree nodded. “Feels like we’re in a different time period, doesn’t it? Well...that might actually be the case.”

  
  



	2. Makeovers, Because Some People Just Decide Not to Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and McCree break the situation down while getting weird stares because McCree is incapable of looking normal (although Mercy isn't doing much better either).

Angela tugged the brim of McCree’s hat over her eyes, praying that all the people staring wouldn’t notice her uncanny similarities to a particularly famous doctor, nor her armor. Luckily, they seemed more transfixed on the ridiculous outfit. 

“How can you stand constantly being dressed like this?” She muttered, feeling her cheeks warm a little at what seemed to be the twentieth incredulous look. 

McCree chuckled, clearly relishing in the sight of Angela grumpily wearing his cowboy hat and serape. They’d sat in filthy alleys while waiting for nightfall, getting even more odd stares from the people that passed by in the meantime, but at least then they could keep their eyes on the ground and hide their faces. Now they’d begun moving, and hiding was becoming more and more of a fantasy as the few people still left couldn’t help but keep their gazes on the pair for far too long.

“What, don’t like the attention?” the cowboy grinned

“I hate it so much. It doesn’t even keep me hidden!”

“Well, how often do we have to avoid being recognized as a second pair of ourselves due to being sent back in time?”

“You’re a wanted criminal McCree, being inconspicuous isn’t only applicable to this specific situation and you know it.”

“And considering that I haven’t been caught in all these years, I’d say you should trust me on my skills.”

“I would if you could prove it to me. Yet here you are, looking ridiculous and out of place even without the hat, serape, and more... _ distinctive _ features.” 

McCree frowned at the last comment. The moment they had set out to move and find someplace to lay low for the night, she had immediately demanded he take off the belt buckle and hide it. She also had him remove a couple other things to make it seem like she wasn’t specifically targeting the buckle, but McCree knew better after so many years wearing it. 

“I don’t know what you expected giving me your hair tie would do, but it sure wouldn’t cover up a metal arm.” 

“That’s what the bandages are for. I’m talking about the rest of your getup.”

McCree raised his eyebrows, and glanced down at the appendage, waving it a little. Angela had completely wrapped it in bandages, and made it look like McCree had some horrible burn wound rather than a broken metal arm. 

Unfortunately, all the changes didn’t add up much: McCree was still an eye catcher with the strange metal armor on his chest, the spurs, and other strange features he’d decided were necessary for his aesthetic. 

“At least I actually aged some in the past decade, rather than look like a straight up clone of myself,” McCree chewed on the edge of his cigar, grinning. 

Angela stuck her tongue out at him. “Jealous?”

“Nah, now that I’ve given it some thought, refusing the aging process is awful inconvenient for inconspicuous time travel.”

“I’ll say,” Angela chuckled, lower the brim of the hat again as a person passed by. McCree gave a friendly nod to them, and once again his shoulder moved to wave his metal hand. The prosthetic didn’t respond, simply swinging along to his walking and slapping against his hip every other beat. 

Angela narrowed her eyes at the movement. “We’ll have to figure out a better way to hide it later, considering you can’t even move it now. Maybe we could make a fake sling?”

“Maybe, but now’s not the place or time to think about it. Look,” McCree pointed ahead, and Angela followed his finger to see a shoddy, run-down hotel up ahead on the other side of the street. 

“Well that’s shady-looking,” Angela commented blandly. 

“We’re shady-looking people,” McCree shrugged, walking toward the building. “Besides, I’ve been in it before: it’s the kind of place that won’t ask any serious questions.”

Angela raised an eyebrow, jogging to catch up with him. “Couldn’t that mean your past self could make his way here, if he even exists?”

McCree shrugged again. “If he does, then that’s definitely a possibility. It’s not likely, though, so I say we cross that bridge if we come to it.”

 

~~~

 

There was a surprisingly charming bell that rang as they entered. The man sitting at the reception desk had unkempt hair and some ratty hairs sprinkled across his cheeks and jaw seemingly without any rhyme or reason. His shoulders were broad and he had a bit of a pig belly. He didn’t seem bothered by either of their appearances, in fact he looked mildly bored. McCree strode forward, his movements settling into something familiar that he hadn’t felt since Blackwatch. He saw Angela fall a bit behind him: it seemed she was leaving this up to him, which he supposed was fair. 

“We’d like a room for two for a few weeks,” McCree raised four fingers, before fishing around in his pockets once he saw the receptionist nod. “We might need to change that time at some point, though.”

“As long as you’ve got the money for it. I won’t give you money back if you decide to leave sooner. Is this woman with you?”

“She is.”

“Can I get your names?” 

McCree paused, his fingers partially in his wallet to pay for the room, fishing for a premade name and identity in his mental library. 

“Matthew-“ McCree stopped himself. Shit, if there was a second McCree running around, he couldn’t use the same false identities, could he?.

The cowboy frantically glanced around the room, his gaze finally settling on Angela, her eyebrow raised. His eyes flicked over to her battle armor showing from underneath the poncho. “Mercy...er.”

“Matthew Mercy-er?”

“Matt Mercer, actually.” He gave a strained smile, casually leaning on the desk to hide his anxious twitching. Christ, he was rusty at this. “Sorry, it’s late and I’m still kind of tipsy.”

The ratty man blinked, and let out an obnoxious breath, his cheeks puffed up. He typed in the name before turning to Angela. “And what’s your name, ma’am?”

“Lucy Pohl,” The doctor replied without an ounce of hesitation. McCree did his best to hide his surprise.  _ Motherfucker, how long did she have that answer ready?  _ He swore the look she gave to him was smug.

_ Probably took the time while I was stumbling over my own feet with my own name, dammit.  _

The ratty man nodded, typing in the next name, accepting McCree’s payment, and handing them the keys. “Second floor, left hallway.”

 

~~~

 

Angela fell back on the chair, tossing off McCree’s clothing as the cowboy in question began checking each mattress for any bed bugs. 

McCree lifted his head as he began to hear a... _ conversation  _ from the room next to them, along with the squeaking of one of the beds. The sounds was so clear it almost felt like there wasn’t even a wall, and Angela wrinkled her nose. “These walls are far too thin.”

McCree sat down on the edge of the bed once he’d thoroughly checked both and found them insect-free, at least. “At the very least, they’d drown out any of our conversations.”

“I don’t think I could have a serious discussion of time travel over the sounds of sex,” Angela dragged a hand across her eyes, and McCree laughed. 

“How about we just turn on the shower, then?” McCree suggested, and Angela tilted her head for a moment before nodding. 

“That’s not a bad idea, I could even wash that filthy poncho of yours while we talk,” her face split into a wicked smile. 

“Hey! I’ve got fantastic hygiene, I’ll let you know!”

“Oh, please, I could feel the sweat in that thing practically burning through my skin. It was the longest walk of my life.”

McCree scoffed, a smile still plastered on his face. “Fuck off.”

“Such a simple insult. You getting tired, McCree?”

“Absolutely, this has been a long day,” The cowboy grunted as he sat back up, walking over to the bathroom and seeing Angela get up to follow suit. 

The bathroom was small, and after he turned on the shower (the water was cold no matter what setting he put on) he leaned back on the counter. Angela sat down on the toilet with its cover down, and McCree saw she was holding his poncho in her hands. “If you actually put that thing under the water I’m going to punch you.” He pointed a finger. 

Angela simply stuck out her tongue, hanging it on the edge of the bathtub and out of range of the shower. The two of them were quiet for a moment, Angela leaning on her legs and McCree absently observing his reflection. 

“So,” McCree began, and Angela looked up at him in the mirror. “Time travel.”

“It definitely seems so,” she shrugged. “I saw some other papers on our walk back, just to be sure: they’ve all got the same date.”

“Damn,” McCree murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “How the hell did this happen? Even Tracer couldn’t move through time like this.”

“I think her chrono accelerator is responsible for this, actually,” McCree stood straighter, looking at Angela with wide eyes. “Not directly, though. Winston mentioned a while back that Sombra had managed to get a hold of some of his files, one of them being the blueprints for Tracer’s accelerator.”

“What?”

“We knew she was already been using it, her teleporter has a striking resemblance to Winston’s technology. It’s possible she decided to modify the accelerator again.”

“Alright,” McCree was rubbing his temples now. “Alright, I guess that makes a little sense. But why’d she go after us specifically? Why not anyone else?”

Angela shrugged. “That I’m not sure of. It could be possible we weren’t actually targeted for anything, and were only attacked because we were separated from the others.”

“I dunno, you seem pretty ugly with her.”

“We-I’ve had several encounters with her before,” Angela grimaced, crossing her arms. “Last I saw her was in Eichenwalde forest with Roadhog. We did  _ not  _ part on good terms then, not to mention the times she’s targeted Satya and Amelie with her hacking.”

Her lips curled into a snarl, and McCree felt his gut burn knowing what happened the previous Christmas. To be fair, he hadn’t truly realized who was talking to - he’d been  _ extremely  _ drunk - until a month had passed in the new year. Still, it was a story he’d keep close to his chest. He cleared his throat a little loudly, wanting to move the conversation forward. 

“Still, something’s been bugging me. Why’d she want to send us into the past? What if we decided to change something, stop Talon from ever forming or something?”

“Sombra’s a bit of a wild card, so she might not care about us stopping Talon. It is an unbelievably risky move, though, considering how much we could change with our knowledge.” She rubbed her chin. 

“Maybe she’s trying to get us stuck in one of those para-thingies? Isn’t that a common danger of time travel?”

“A paradox?” Angela’s eyes widened. 

“Yeah, that.”

“It...that  _ could  _ be possible. We don’t know what would happen if we ended up in a paradox, it’s never been done before.”

“What are the theories on it, though? There’re theories, right? Can’t say I’ve read up much on time travel, never thought it’d come in handy.”

“Well, if too much of our past is changed, then our current versions-the ones that live in the future we know-will be incompatible, or could have never existed. But if we can’t exist, then we can’t have changed the future. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Exactly, it’s complicated like that. It’s an infinite loop of logic. If we change too much of the past and cause a paradox, I can think of a few possibilities, and none of them are any good for us.”

“Which are?”

“One, we break down or vanish after the changes have been completed. It could be painful, it could be painless, we don’t know. Two would be that this entire timeline breaks down.”

McCree widened his eyes. “Are those the only chances?”

“Of course not, but they’re the biggest dangers, I’d say. It’s hard to predict something that’s never been truly explored before.”

McCree leaned back on the counter and whistled, the back of his head hitting the mirror. “That’s some weapon. It’s a little reckless though, don’t you think? It’d be like Sombra was waving around a button that could launch all the nukes simultaneously.”

“We don’t know if her sending us into the past was even intentional though, this is just speculation. Still, I’d say we try and avoid getting caught in a paradox either way until we can find a way to get back to our own time.”

”I’d say I’m in agreement with that. Though, that means we can’t contact Winston for help here, can we?” 

“Not easily, no,” Angela frowned. “Still, I don’t think he’s even made Tracer’s accelerator yet, so I’m not sure how much help he could be.”

McCree sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is such a fuckin’ mess.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry but I need to ask something of you.”

The cowboy glanced down at Angela, an eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

“I know you’re tired, we both are. But if we want to remain inconspicuous while we’re stuck here we’re going to need to disguise ourselves somewhat. Eight years isn’t enough to make us look too drastically different from our past selves. Erm, especially for me.”

“Are there even past selves here? Wouldn’t that in itself cause a huge paradox?”

“Probably only if we meet them, but considering we look the same as from the future and were in a different location from the bases, this isn’t a situation where we’ve begun inhabiting our past selves’ bodies.”

McCree hummed. “Alright, and I’m guessing I have to do all the shopping?”

Angela sighed. “Out of the two of us, you have the lower reputation.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that’s the case  _ right now _ , though, considering I’m being talked about in every newspaper. 

“Perhaps, but at least you’re visibly older, which is more than I can say for myself.”

“You calling me old?”

“Oh my god,” Angela planted a hand on her face. ”Can we at least agree that out of the two of us, the one not wearing battle armor of a famous doctor should go?”

McCree glanced down at the two of them. “Yeah, I’ll bite. So what are you thinking of getting? Just some new clothes, maybe a bag to toss our old stuff into?”

“Some hair dye too,” McCree raised an eyebrow. “The hair’s the most recognizable part of a person’s appearance, dyeing that would make sure I don’t look like the other Angela.”

McCree nodded, before opening up the bathroom door. “Hold on a minute,” he raised a finger. 

The cowboy soon returned with a notepad and pen he’d gotten off of the bedside table. “I’m writing this down.”

“Well, if you’re doing that, then how about I list the clothing that I need specifically?”

“Huh?” McCree twirled the pen in his fingers. “Don’t trust me in choosing a good outfit for you?”

“Besides the fact that you could get something completely stupid on purpose, you just don’t have that good taste in general, McCree.”

“What?! Since when has my taste in fashion been terrible?”

Angela simply stared at him with deadpan eyes, before lifting a familiar belt buckle next to her head. “BAMF.”

McCree snatched the thing from her hand. Had she been holding it the whole time? “That was a gift from Ana, just so you know, without my input.”

“And yet you decided to wear it.”

“Alright, alright,” McCree rolled his eyes, setting the buckle aside and picking up the notepad and pen. “So tell me what you need, then.”

 

~~~

 

McCree bumped into another passerby, mumbling an apology. He walked a couple blocks before pulling out the wallet he’d swiped and inspecting the amount of cash he’d gotten. It had more than the previous few, and with all four of them together McCree hoped he’d be able to afford the clothing run. 

Angela was both aware and disapproving of his offer to get money, considering they couldn’t make a withdrawal to a bank account. The two of them had discussed it when they woke that morning, or rather, Angela lectured him the cautions of stealing and keeping a low profile before admitting that it was “unfortunately necessary,” something McCree was already fully aware of, more than most even considering his time at Blackwatch. 

Angela was smart, but sometimes she seemed to underestimate the knowledge and general intelligence of those around her. 

Still, she brought up a good point at how actively committing a crime, even a petty one, could still draw unwanted attention, and McCree distantly wondered if they’d need to get a job soon. 

He supposed that depended on how long they were going to stay in the past. 

McCree sighed, putting the wallet back in his pocket, lamenting again at his inability to use his left arm. He desperately wanted to go and get the proper wirings to allow Angela to fix it, but he knew they had better priorities. He shook off the thought from tempting him as he pushed open the door. 

The thrift store gave off a scent of wool and dust that made him think of a grandmother with a passion for knitting. He glanced down at the list he’d written, the tired and sloppy handwriting suddenly a lot harder to read now that he’d gotten a decent cup of coffee. Still, he remembered their conversation last night to fill in gaps, and began to quietly peruse the aisles to find the right clothing. 

McCree found the clothing for himself first, considering his tastes and requests were less specific than Angela. He found himself grabbing a large variety of different clothing: flannel, woolen sweaters (there was a christmas one that was unfortunately too small), turtlenecks, they all ended up in his cart. As he walked down one of the aisles, a piece of dark and shiny fabric caught his attention, and he pulled it out to find a leather jacket, seemingly his size. 

The thing was  _ old,  _ and yet it was in surprisingly good condition. McCree imagined some old man wearing this in his college days and hiding it in his closet for decades in shame before finally rediscovering it and handing it over to the thrift store. He tried slipping it on: it fit perfectly. 

He got some simple pairs of jeans and even some sweatpants before heading to the t-shirt section. Plenty of them had graphics and titles that he barely recognized: one that caught his attention was a black shirt with a hexagon wearing headphones and a sword going through it, the letters “C” and “R” inside. That, along with several Disney shirts, went into the cart as well. 

McCree tossed in some plain worn jeans for Angela, hoping that they’d fit her fine. The size matched with what she’d written, but he knew these things could be inconsistent. He tossed in a few more jeans a size above and below just to be safe. 

He got some more t-shirts from the same aisle as his, along with some turtlenecks: guessing from what she usually wore, Angela wasn’t a big fan of patterns or graphics, so McCree avoided them for the most part. 

The only exception he made was when he spotted a kangaroo pouch hoodie with a cartoon avocado angel and the caption “Holy Guacamole” on its front. 

It was definitely too big for her, but if she refused to wear it, then  _ he  _ would, dammit, he thought as he waited in checkout and picked a pair of sunglasses off of the rack. 

As he headed back he stopped by a hair salon to find some hair dye and scissors. His request for guidance around the shop after finding the latter resulted in a fifteen-minute long conversation instructing him the step-by-step process of bleaching and dyeing hair. Eventually he gave up, grabbed the nearest bottle of hair dye - a purple color - and bought it, just to get out of the store as soon as possible. 

The trip to the pharmacy went along surprisingly well, he managed to find a decent sling that would cover up the majority of his arm in a way that was less suspicious than the bandages, which the woman at the desk kept glancing at as he made his purchase. He could practically see the gears turning in her head, putting two and two together.

“It’s not for me,” he said in his most deadpan voice before grabbing the plastic bag and walking out the pharmacy, resisting the urge to look behind to see her expression of utter confusion. No, the most he could do was imagine it and smile a little. 

 

~~~

 

“Honey, I’m home!” McCree called as he pushed the door to the hotel room open, the plastic bags swinging on his arm and shoulders. 

“That took a while. What, did you have too much fun shopping at the mall?” the cowboy looked over to see Angela sitting up from the bed, smiling. “Also, don’t call me honey; we need a story and identities that would be  _ believable _ .”

“Yeah yeah, screw you too,” McCree tossed the plastic bags onto the foot of the bed, and Angela crawled over to pull them open. “Those are for you,” he pointed. 

He watched as she lifted each pair of jeans out one at a time, in stark contrast to McCree’s inverting of the bags and dumping out all their contents onto the sheets. 

“Don’t you think this is too many pairs of pants?”

“I wasn’t sure what would fit you.”

He could tell she’d gotten to the hoodie when he saw her stop moving in the corner of his eye. He looked over at Angela to see her giving him a deadpan stare, holding up the image of the avocado in front of him. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Isn’t it great?”

“Maybe, but don’t you think it’s a little big for me?”

“What, have you never worn oversized hoodies before?”

Angela frowned, pressing her fingers into the soft blue of the fabric. “No…”

“Try it on now, let’s get changed. We need to get you out of that battle armor ASAP, anyway.”

The doctor nodded, standing up and going to the bathroom with the bags and locking the door. As she did that, McCree quickly tried shrugging off his own clothes and try on the new outfit. The actual act of changing turned out to be much more frustratingly slow than he’d expected, as he’d never realized how difficult it could be to get a basically paralyzed arm in and out of a sleeve. 

He stood back up and observed himself in the leather jacket, the hexagon peeking out between the zipper. He hummed; it was alright, but it still looked like McCree in a different outfit. He glanced over and spotted Angela’s hair tie on the bed stand. With one more look to the bathroom door, he grabbed the tie and made as best a ponytail as he could. He nodded, smiling at his reflection.  _ That looks much better.  _

He heard the bathroom door opening up again, and he looked over to see Angela walking out, staring at the bottle of hair dye in her hand. The jeans seemed to fit fine, while the hoodie stretched a couple inches past her waist and was bunched up around her wrists. McCree put a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. 

“So this dye should work pretty well, but I was also thinking of cut-“

The doctor’s sentence died the moment she raised her head and saw McCree. the cowboy tried to open his arms to look presentable, but only one arm lifted. “What do you think?”

“You look like a douchebag.” Her voice was monotone as she looked up and down the outfit. 

“Aw, now  _ that’s _ a compliment.”

“No, I’m serious, you look like - to quote Amelie - ‘a pure american douchebag.’ Is that my hair tie?”

McCree rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, thought I looked too recognizable with my hair down.”

“We could use a simpler solution than you using my things,” McCree huffed.  _ Geez, lady.  _ “I was planning to trim my own hair with these scissors you bought, but you could cut yours, too.”

“Um, I don’t think that’s the best idea, considering the arm ‘n all…”

“Don’t be an idiot. I’ll cut it for you.”

McCree raised his eyebrows as Angela began to gather the plastic bags on the bed. “Really?”

“Of course. We’ll use these plastic bags to cover your shoulders and do it in the bathtub so there isn’t hair everywhere, because god knows you have a lot of it.”

“Hey! It’s not that much!”

“For men? It is. And it’s in that frustrating middle ground where it’s a hassle to cut but isn’t long enough to donate, too.” She spoke as she set up a small station in the bathroom, and McCree stood up to follow her. 

“You can donate  _ hair _ ?”

“You didn’t know that?”

 

~~~

 

McCree twitched as he heard the  _ snip  _ next to his ear, seeing some more strands of hair fall down onto his shoulder and slip off the plastic bag. The bathtub was small and cramped, but at least the majority of the hairs were staying inside of it. 

“So uh, how much do you know about cutting hair, anyway?”

Angela didn’t respond, and McCree felt his gaze darken. “Angela…”

The doctor gave a nervous laugh. “Um, not much. Not to make it this short, at least.”

“Aw,  _ hell. _ ”

“Relax, I know enough to make sure you don’t look like a rabid weasel or something. Just don’t expect anything fancy.”

McCree huffed, slouching in the bathtub. If he didn’t have an arm out of commission he likely would have grabbed the pairs of scissors already, but he did and had to let himself trust in her skills. She trusted his taste in fashion to let him go shopping for her, after all. 

She had sent him with a list, sure, but at least she was still wearing the hoodie. 

“Does this mean I’m going to have to help you dye your hair?” McCree blinked as more hair fell down. 

“Actually, no. I can handle that just fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I used to dye my hair all the time back when I was a teenager.”

McCree laughed. “What? I  _ knew  _ you as a teenager, and I don’t remember you dyeing your hair. Are you telling me you’re not a natural blonde after all these years?”

He heard a chuckle. “No, I dyed my hair before that. I washed it out and stopped doing it when I was accepted into Overwatch. Still, you’ve seen me dye my hair before. Remember Halloween?”

“The one with you as a witch?”

“No, a different one. I showed up dressed up as Moira, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” McCree’s face split into a wide grin as the memory hit him and he laughed. “Your hair was  _ so  _ orange! I remember how pissed she was, she seriously considered growing her hair out the rest of the year to do the same thing to you for next Halloween!”

Angela stopped her cutting to put a hand over her mouth, giggling. “Really?!”

“Yeah, but she gave up on that pretty quick when her hair kept getting caught in everything.”

“Couldn’t she have tried tying it up?”

“Nah, it was really curly and hard to work with, plus it wasn’t nearly long enough to form a sturdy ponytail. It didn’t grow too fast either, so she gave up about a couple months in.”

“Stop,” Angela laughed. “I’m going to stab your scalp at this rate.”

She took a pause from the cutting, their energy dying down. McCree’s smile faded away. “Moira’s still working in Blackwatch, right now.”

He glanced over to see the humor having faded from Angela’s eyes too, her lips pressed tightly together as she resumed the cutting. “Yes, she is.”

“Y’know, I still remember the day she left, and the day I figured out her connections to Talon.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Doesn’t this bother you? Just having to stand by and let it all happen again?”

“Of  _ course  _ it does, McCree. You think I don’t want to stop Overwatch from collapsing? But we can’t risk running into a paradox, which, might I remind you, has consequences from us ceasing to exist to the breaking of the entire timeline.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. It’s just...it doesn’t make watching any easier.”

“I know,” Two more snips behind his ear. “Trust me, I know.”

He felt her hand tousle through his hair, a few more clumps falling through his vision. “There, that should be good. If you want, you can try cutting off some more pieces yourself. I’ll clean up what you’ve got here for now.”

McCree stood up and observed his reflection, surprised by the sight that greeted him. His hair was a lot shorter, now sweeping across and sticking close to his scalp. He ran a hand through it, feeling the soft strands. The cut was surprisingly even, and aside from a few bunches sticking out it was surprisingly good for a novice. 

He grunted, turning back to see Angela collecting the hair in the two plastic bags. “I’ll be throwing these out, you’ll have to wash any left behind in the bathtub, alright?” she instructed. 

The cowboy frowned. “Don’t you want to cut your hair too? That’s why you wanted to buy those scissors in the first place.”

“I will, but I’m still not sure how short I want it to be. I’m just going to dye my hair once you’re done showering, and that’ll be it for me.”

McCree nodded, turning back to his reflection. He furrowed his eyebrows at the sight; there was something about the hairstyle that was throwing him off, he just couldn’t place his finger down on it…

“By the way,” Angela called into the doorway just before she left. “I’ll be the first to say that new haircut adds at least five more years to you, just so you know!”

“Hey!” McCree yelled back as he heard the doctor’s laugh echo behind the door as she left the room. 

He turned back to his reflection, narrowing his eyes.  _ Dammit.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote over 5000 words of makeovers


	3. Time Travel Reunions are Worse than Family Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fun fact that McCree learns over a nice cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is moving along better than expected. Sorry for the delay, I had this chapter written out for a while but then I just didn't edit it??? I'm finally out of my writer's funk though so yayyyy i should hopefully be writing more soon

Turns out the cheap purple dye kind of sucked, and as such Angela needed to put it in several times for any sort of color to stick to her hair properly. McCree found himself with a lot of free time while waiting for the color to finish setting in, only for Angela to look in the mirror, growl at her reflection, and start the whole process over again.

He rubbed at the metal plating of his arm, frustrated at how smooth and pristine it looked on the outside. It tricked his mind into thinking that it was fully repaired and functional, only to get surprised time and time again when it was as unresponsive as always. He doubted it’d take more than simple pickpocketing of tourists to pay for the wiring to get Angela to fix it up. 

McCree reached over to the box containing the sling, opening it up. The process was a little difficult considering he had only one arm to do it, but soon enough the straps were over his shoulder and his arm was mostly covered up by the blue sling. The only thing sticking out was his hand, limply hanging out of the end, and McCree grimaced as he remembered he’d forgotten to get a glove for his left hand. He pulled out the right glove from his previous outfit and tried his best to fit it on the fingers despite it being for the wrong hand—it managed to slip on enough to cover the hand outside of the sling, but it looked weird as hell. 

The cowboy sighed. He supposed he’d just have to deal with it. He glanced over, catching sight of Peacekeeper, and reached for that too. He looked down at the sling, at the empty space above his arm and inside the tube of fabric that was the sling. He pursed his lips, double-checking the safety of the gun and slipping it into the gap. 

The thing fit perfectly, no one would be able to guess he was hiding a firearm on him. The thing was still visible if they came from the side, though. He tucked some fabric into the entrance of the gap to cover up the Peacekeeper entirely. Sure it’d be harder to pull out then, but considering a time traveler likely didn’t have any direct enemies being inconspicuous was the largest priority. 

McCree turned around as he heard a plop on the nearby bed, seeing Angela with her hair wrapped in plastic and a grumpy expression on her face. He cleared his throat. “What do you think of the complete disguise?”

Angela looked up, and her gaze softened. “Pretty good, actually. What’s with the glove, though?”

“Forgot to buy one.”

“Ah. We’ll have to fix that later, I suppose. It works for now.”

“Hey, want to see something cool?”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “I’m honestly scared to say yes.”

McCree grabbed Peacekeeper, fabric covering and all, and aimed it at a nearby wall as he struck a pose. “Bang.” He faked a recoil with the pistol.

He heard the doctor give a light chuckle. “That’s a pretty good hiding spot. I hadn’t guessed it to be there, and I know you carry a gun all the time. Aren’t you worried about it possibly firing while hidden in there, though?”

McCree shrugged, tucking it back in. “Wouldn’t matter, would it? The thing’s just metal, and it’s not even working. Actually, now that we’re on it, d’you think it’s possible to get it fixed while we’re stuck here? It’s been two days and it’s already bothering me.”

Angela frowned. “I’m sorry, but that’s a lot of money that would more easily get noticed were it stolen. We’ve already got to figure out the simple living expenses.”

“Should we get jobs?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if we’ve got some work to do, we’d be able to take care of some of those money issues a little less shadily, and whatever money I  _ do  _ steal could go into savings for stuff like my arm.”

“And what could we provide on a resume? All of our official papers are up in Overwatch, and you don’t technically  _ exist  _ in public record, McCree—aside from the newspapers, of course.”

“Right,” McCree scratched his chin.

“Of course, not all businesses are nearly as professional, but they’re more local and grounded on how people know each other more. It’s not a bad idea, it’s just something that won’t happen anytime soon.” Angela sighed. 

“What about your armor?

“Excuse me?”

“What are you planning to do with your armor? If not anything, maybe we could sell it or break it down to fix my arm? Only if you’re fine with that, of course.”

The doctor shook her head. “That’s not an option either, even if I wanted to. My armor likely doesn’t have all the right parts for your arm, and trying to sell it would only bring more attention. Remember, Mercy’s a very public figure right now, me leaving the house with that armor would turn quite a few heads.” She sighed. “For now, I think just thievery is what we’re going with.”

McCree hummed. “If that’s the case, perhaps I should teach you some tricks for yourself?”

Angela smiled. “But if that happened, I wouldn’t have anymore need for you, wouldn’t I?”

“Damn, you’re right. Nice save.”

The two laughed, Angela’s dying sooner as she felt her hair. “What time is it?”

“Nearly four, I think.”

“Alright,” Angela sat up, striding towards the bathroom once more. There was the crinkling of plastic and a few beats of silence before he heard the doctor shout , “Good enough!” 

The sounds of running water and the grabbing of a towel emanated from the room followed by silence for a few minutes before Angela walked back out of the bathroom, her damp hair now a lilac shade and tied up in a braid. She grabbed her hoodie and began clambering into it. “I’m starving. How about you?” 

“Fuckin’ finally,” McCree breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re the dyeing expert, aren’t you?” Angela snapped back, her head popping through the collar of the hoodie. “Why’d you get such a terrible hair dye?”

“It was the cheapest there!” McCree protested as the two left the hotel room and began walking down the hallways. “And it still worked, didn’t it?”

“Barely.”

“Oh, lay off. I was also trying to get that damn lady at the store out of my hair, too.”

”Was...was that a pun, McCree?”

“Was what a pun why would I-oh...oh,  _ hell. _ ”

Angela laughed. 

 

~~~

 

The clouds were starting to turn pink by the time they arrived at the diner. McCree narrowed his eyes at the sign above, unable to read any of the lettering on it. “U-um, my Swiss is a little rusty…”

“Don’t worry, this place is pretty tourist-y, I’m sure the menus inside have English. And even if they don’t I’ll translate the  _ german _ ,” Angela patted his shoulder and stepped inside. 

McCree furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, german’s the official language?” He could have sworn he had some missions in Switzerland, how had he forgotten their language. 

Angela rolled her eyes. Well, he couldn’t see her face, but her tone of voice told it all. “I think we need to get you some coffee, cowboy.”

As it turned out, many of the labels were in English, but the titles of the foods weren’t translated. Luckily, they had a window of the different foods, and McCree ended up pointing at a pastry that looked like a cross between a cookie and a pie. Angela walked up to them, had a surprisingly long conversation with the cashier, before being handed a number and waving to the cowboy. “Let’s find a place to sit.”

McCree ran his hands through his fuzzy, too-short hair, his leg bouncing anxiously. “What’s wrong?” He glanced up as Angela sat on the other side of the round table. 

“‘M just hungry, that’s all.” He tapped his fingers on the table. 

“Mm,” Angela nodded. “You know that person at the cash register thinks we’re dating?”

McCree raised his eyebrows. “Is that why you two were talking so long?”

“Mhm.”

“So what’d you tell her?”

“I decided not to correct her,” Angela shrugged. “I mean, why not, right?”

“Ugh, ‘cause acting lovey-dovey with you sounds  _ very  _ weird,” McCree leaned back, sticking out his tongue. “Not even including your girlfriends.”

Angela laughed. “Who the hell says ‘lovey-dovey?’”

“Me, apparently.”

“Apparently.”

Angela perked up as she heard a ‘Lucy’ called from the other side of the room and stood up. She soon came back with two cups of coffee. “I got some milk in it for you already. Twice as much as the coffee.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m not crazy and drink it straight black with shots of 5-hour energy,” McCree mumbled over the rim. “At some point you just need to be honest with yourself and take some proper drugs, like cocaine or something.”

“I do not take 5-hour energy,” Angela huffed, taking a sip of her coffee. “Not anymore, anyway.”

“Yeah. The rest of your branch had to call in an intervention, right?” 

Angela grimaced. “Ana was there, too.”

“Obviously, she was already there to keep you from killing yourself with lack of sleep,” McCree took another sip, casually surveying the people walking in and out of the building. 

Angela tapped her fingers on the table. “We should probably refrain from talking too much. About the past, you know.”

McCree hummed, looking out the window. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” His eyes flicked around as he took another sip. 

He choked on his drink. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Angela was immediately on edge, her back straight and shoulders tensed as McCree punched his chest, hunched over and coughing. 

“D-don’t look just yet,” he wheezed. 

Angela frowned, watching as McCree continued to cough, before leaning over and patting his back. “Wrong pipe?”

“Nah, there was definitely an eye in my coffee, ‘s all.”

He saw Angela roll her eyes and her patting became a little more aggressive. “You’re looking a little pale there, Mc-uh, Mercer.”

“‘M…I’m alright…”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s...it’s him,” McCree lifted a shaky finger, the last of the coffee finally leaving his lungs. Angela followed the finger to the man he was pointing to. “I know him.”

The doctor’s eyes widened, and she leaned in more closely. “His name was Lukas Wolf. He died on a mission a few months after we killed Antonio. I wasn’t there myself, but I heard that the squad had gotten ambushed, and...he didn’t make it.”

He glanced back at the agent across the room. The tattoo on his arms, the messy black hair, the obscene amount of piercings, seeing it all alive and well again made it hard to breathe. 

A couple of fingers snapped in front of his face, making him flinch. He glanced back at Angela, leaning back in her seat with a warning glare. 

“Don’t stare too much, Matt,” she kept her voice low. “You know we can’t do anything.”

McCree nodded, running a hand through his hair and sighing. “I know, doc, it’s just...I really want to talk to him after all this time, y’know?”

Angela leaned forward again, her gaze softening. “I know, but just try to stay strong, Mc-“ she cut off, her gaze widening at something to the side. 

McCree raised an eyebrow, following her gaze, and felt his heart stop at the sight of Lukas standing over the two of them, a friendly smile on his face. 

“Habuh,” McCree intelligently greeted. 

“Hello, can I help you?” Angela stepped in.

“Hey,” Lukas reached out a hand and the doctor shook it as McCree worked to keep himself calm. “Sorry if this sounds weird, but I couldn’t help but notice you guys staring at me.”

“Oh!” Both Angela and Lukas turned their heads as McCree spoke up, his voice unexpectedly loud. “Oh. No, that wasn’t anything.”

“Really?” Lukas raised an eyebrow. “Then what was it?”

“I just…” Damn, McCree wasn’t usually this sloppy with his excuses.  _ Maybe this situation is a bit beyond my skill set.  _ “I mean, who could be able to take their eyes off of you?”

He saw Angela’s palm meet her face in the corner of his eye. 

Lukas blinked a couple of times, before giving off a nervous laugh and scratching at his neck. “Well, I suppose I’m flattered, then. Sorry, though, I wouldn’t say you’re my type.”

McCree swore he heard a quiet “ouch” from Angela as Lukas walked back to his seat, and as his back turned away the cowboy finally stopped resisting the urge to bury his face in his arms.

Angela coughed.

“Shut up,” McCree mumbled through his sleeve.

“I didn’t say anything,” the doctor laughed. “Look, relax - this is a good thing, alright?”

“‘Cause you got to watch that shitshow?”

“Maybe, but that’s not wholly the reason. Think about it: you worked-or work, I guess-with this man regularly, right? “

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t recognize you!” Angela was leaning forward as she whispered. “That means that you picked good outfits for the both of us, I think.”

McCree lifted his head a little. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right about that.” 

“Admittedly, it could’ve been learned under better circumstances. Aren’t you the one good at these kinds of undercover jobs?”

“Hey! I’ll let you know I’m just a little off my game today, what with the time travel, and--and…”  _ And seeing a dead friend after so long. _ “I’m just distracted, is all.”

Angela hummed, tilting her head. “I suppose that’s fair enough. Are you going to finish that?” She pointed to his dish. 

 

~~~

 

“Do you think we could track down Talon? They  _ were  _ the ones who sent us back, after all.”

McCree glanced up at Angela, who was reading a discarded newspaper as she spoke. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Nah, I’m not sure about that. Not even sure how to do it, considering we’d be on our own, not to mention that they won’t even have the right tech. Was Sombra even a member at this time?”

“Who knows? She seems pretty young, but we know nothing about her.” 

“What made you think we could track them down in the first place, anyway?”

“I guess just learning about the, uh…” Angela glanced at the wall of the hotel. “... _ plants  _ after the fall made me wonder if there was some, ah, misdirection back then. It would explain how such a large organization never tracked them down.”

“S’pose that’s a fair assumption,” McCree grunted as he stood up from the seat, and Angela looked up in curiosity. “There was something else I was thinking about, though.”

McCree quietly walked across the room, turning the volume knob of the old TV in front of the beds. The sounds of the soap opera would likely drown out any raised voices. Angela raised her eyebrow.  “What about Overwatch do you want to say?”

“I want to contact them.”

“But we  _ can’t _ , McCree. We shouldn’t be in any proximity to our past selves, not to mention possibly changing the timeline.”

McCree crossed his arms, taking a deep breath through his nose. “That’s exactly what I want to do, actually.”

“What?!” Mercy got up from the bed. 

“Let me explain!” McCree cringed inwardly as he raised his voice, looking at the TV’s volume, and returned to a lower level. “Let me explain. First off, I know the both of us are just dancing around the fact that we have no hope of finding the tech that sent us back - nevermind sending us home - unless we find the soon-to-be creator!”

“Then what’s this about changing the timeline? We don’t have to be brash, there’s a way to get Winston’s chrono accelerator without letting them see us, I know it!”

“But do we really want it that way?”

Angela stopped. “What?”

“Think of it. We’re on the brink of a huge turning point for Overwatch right now, with the knowledge of how exactly it’s all going to go to shit. Don’t you think we should take the opportunity?”

“Not if it could destroy the timeline!” Mercy lifted her arms, keeping her voice low but tone harsh. “We can’t be reckless here, we have no idea what chain reaction our actions have caused here!”

“So what’s the plan, then? Steal the chronal accelerator and figure out how to send us back to our time, and keep on living without ever trying to do better for our friends?”

“Yes! Because for all we know doing nothing  _ is  _ doing better for them!”

“But we don’t even know what we’ll do! What are the odds that it’ll actually destroy the timeline, especially considering our very  _ existence  _ here should have already been triggering some ‘chain reactions?’”

“It’s not a risk I’m willing to take!”

“Yeah, well  _ I  _ am!”

“ _ McCree _ ,” Angela rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I feel like  _ you _ of all people would have seen all those stories and movies and speculations on the consequences of time travel.”

McCree scoffed. “Movies aren’t real, Angela.”

“Says the man dressed up as a  _ cowboy _ !” 

“Don’t act like your hands are clean, miss angel-armor!”

The two stopped talking, silently glaring at each other. A filtered gasp came from the TV. “My long lost brother! I thought you were  _ dead _ !”

McCree fought himself a little to stop himself from laughing, and from the way Angela closed her eyes it seemed she was doing the same. “...Sounds like Genji, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah...it does.” The doctor was looking back at the bed again, the newspaper at its foot. “Is he still in Blackwatch right now?”

“Yeah, he was with us when we went after Antonio.”

Angela sighed, keeping her eyes closed for a moment, before those crystal irises settled on McCree again. “We are  _ not  _ altering the timeline.”

McCree pressed his mouth into a thin line, before giving a light sigh and turning to the door. “I’m having a smoke.”

For once, Angela didn’t lecture him on the habit. “Make sure not to stay out too long.”

“Yeah, yeah,” McCree responded lazily, and the door clicked shut.  

 

~~~

 

The bench was starting to cool in the night air, but it was better than a wall and was luckily not too far from the hotel. The streetlight above was dim, leaving mostly the full moon above to light up the surrounding streets. 

McCree sighed, breathing out a pale cloud of smoke and tapping his foot against the pavement. 

He heard a scuffing down the road, and he glanced over to see someone walking nearby. He tensed himself, remembering where his gun was hidden.

A familiar face emerged from the moonlight. “It’s you again, from the diner.”

McCree kept his expression neutral, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yep. It’s me.”

Lukas glanced down at the bench. “Mind if I take a seat?”

“You don’t have anything else to do?” McCree’s voice was polite, showing that his question was of genuine curiosity. 

“Nah, was just out taking a late-night stroll, I suppose.”

McCree shrugged. “Then sure.”

Lukas sighed as he sat back on the bench in silence, the two of them looking out at the dim and peaceful streets. “‘M sorry for what I said back at the diner.”

“What, the flattery?”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean it, I was just putting my own foot in my mouth. Was worried I’d made you uncomfortable.”

Lukas shrugged. “I’ve had worse people approach me. But if it wasn’t for my daring good looks, why were you staring at me so much?”

McCree rubbed his hands over his eyes, still feeling embarrassed at such a slip up. “I thought you were someone else, is all. Was wondering what the hell he was doing in here considering he was supposed to be across an ocean.”

Lukas laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s fair to wonder. You kind of look like someone I know, too, although the connection’s tenuous.”

“So, no hard feelings?”

“Course not, there weren’t any to begin with.” He leaned forward. “Think you could lend a light, though? If you’ve got one?”

McCree nodded absently, pulling the lighter out of his pocket and pressing it into Lukas’ palm. He was trying his best to avoid eye contact. “So, about that news lately, huh?”

“There’s a lot of news nowadays.”

“About those guys assassinating Antonio. Weren’t they part of Overwatch?”

“That’s what people suspect,” Lukas grunted, his posture so nonchalant an average civilian wouldn’t even realize he was part of the organization on the news. “Seems a little crazy, though.”

“This whole world’s fuckin’ crazy,” McCree sighed. 

Lukas chuckled. “Guess you’re right there. Still, what good motive could there be behind it, you know?”

McCree felt like the both of them were in a dance, two Blackwatch members feigning ignorance and civilian curiosity, and he continued playing along. “Wasn’t there an attack just before? Seems like a connection there.”

“Still, don’t you think it’s a little harsh, killing the man in his own office like that?”

“Well, he  _ was  _ a criminal.”

“I guess so,” Lukas sighed. “At least there’s a silver lining though, right?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they say Gerard’s going to make a full recovery from that attack soon enough. If there’s one thing Overwatch is good at, it’s healing, I’ll tell you that. They got a pretty stellar doctor up there, huh?”

“Gerard?” McCree asked dumbly. 

“You don’t know him?” Lukas blew out another puff of smoke, his eyebrows raised. “He and his wife are like  _ the  _ textbook celebrity couple. I’m just glad she’s not losing her husband in all of this chaos.”

“Guess you’re right there.”

“What’s your name, by the way?”

“Hm?”

“Your name, if you don’t mind me asking. I’m Lukas.”

“Oh...Matt.”

Lukas nodded. “Nice to meet you. I think I’ve had enough fresh air for tonight,” he stood up from the chair and waved a loose hand. “You get home safe.”

“Yeah, same to you…” McCree murmured, staring after the Blackwatch agent as he vanished into the darkness covering the sidewalk. 

The cowboy sighed, rubbing his hands through his face.  _ Fuck,  _ he wasn’t sure if was saying it out loud and he didn’t care.  _ Fuck. I forgot about Gerard and Amelie.  _

Gerard had been injured, and it wasn’t until he was recovering did Amelie get taken by Talon. She was still okay, and McCree  _ remembered.  _

He remembered the way Gerard tore himself apart searching for her, the utter relief on his face when they’d finally found her. 

He remembered seeing Gerard, throat slit open and his blood dried and staining the sheets of his bed. Assassinated in his sleep, and Amelie gone once again. 

He couldn’t stand by and see all that again. If not for Gerard’s sake, then for his own, at least. 

_ And Angela, too?  _

The doctor loved Amelie, that he knew. Wouldn’t Angela want only the best for her?

The cowboy grit his teeth, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it as he stood up from the chair. If he guessed correctly, he’d say he still had a couple of weeks left before it all went to shit. 

_ How the hell am I gonna convince her? How do I know I’m not just gonna piss her off more by bringing Amelie up? What if she’s already aware of all this, and even still refuses to interfere? _

He gave another frustrated sigh, starting the walk back to the hotel. His mind was buzzing with a thousand different ideas now that he was aware of how little time he had left to make a decision, let alone an argument.  

 

~~~

 

Lukas glanced back at the darkness, making sure it wasn’t too obvious. Seemed as if that man hadn’t followed him, but just to be safe the agent strolled through the city a few times to throw anyone off. Lukas frowned, keeping his hands jammed in his pockets to seem casual, whilst making sure they weren’t in too deep in case he needed to reach for his gun quickly. 

One thing Lukas liked about Blackwatch is he wasn’t considered paranoid among them. In everyday life, his worrying and suspicions were always brushed off or laughed off, but he knew he belonged in Blackwatch the moment he voiced a suspicion and they listened. Of course not everything that tipped him off lead somewhere, but a good chunk did, and some members liked to joke about his gut feelings being a modern-day Oracle of Delphi for the team.  

Now, he was confident that If there was one thing that his gut was telling him then, it was that something was  _ off  _ about Matt. First the strange flirting at the diner - which didn’t make sense considering the woman at the counter said he was dating the woman across from him, then the talk. 

Lukas chewed on the inside of his lip. He’d make sure to see if he could pull up any information and records on Matt. 

After all, Matt had called Antonio a criminal, and while that was certainly true, it wasn’t a fact known to the public eye quite yet. Investigations were still ongoing on his death, and while there was no doubt the dirt would be uncovered soon, as far as the public knew an innocent businessman had been ruthlessly assassinated. 

Matt knew about Antonio, a Talon agent, and his crimes. That thought put his interaction of the diner into a new perspective that Lukas didn’t like. He wondered how Reyes would react to this development considering the hell he put himself through against Antonio and his terrorist group alike.   


	4. Stalking Montages, Time Skips, and a Heartfelt Conversation, Apparently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two fall into their own routines, McCree with some intense stalking and Angela with some intense napping. Also emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hopefully I'll be updating more now that summer's started" I say on three different works and don't update any of them for months. 
> 
> I haven't mentioned how therapeutic it is to write Mccree and Angela banter good god am I having so much fun with these two, and we've barely had any serious time travel shenanigans yet (they're coming soon though, don't you worry).

“Hey, Angela?”

The doctor lifted her head from the makeshift desk she’d constructed from a nearby bedside table and chair, a little surprised.  _ What’s he doing back so soon? _

“I, um, wanted to ask you something.” The cowboy nervously scratched at his neck. 

“Actually, I wanted to say something too.”

“Huh?”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Angela cast her eyes down. “I know this is a weird situation for the both of us, but I didn’t think how it would feel to, you know,  _ see  _ everyone…”

“Alive and happy,” Mccree murmured.

“Exactly. I shouldn’t have dismissed your suggestion so thoroughly.”

Mccree raised his eyebrows. “You mean you agree with me?”

Angela sighed, glancing away. “No, I don’t. If we don’t interfere, we’re guaranteeing that yes, our friends are going to suffer, but they’re not going to be completely wiped out. Do you see where I’m coming from?”

Mccree’s shoulders deflated, but he nodded. “...Yeah, yeah, I guess...it’s just, I was thinking, doesn’t it bother you?”

“Of course it does-”

“‘Cause I just realized that Amelie’s still okay at this point in time. I wanted to know if you were okay, considering…”

Angela stiffened, staring at the sheepish cowboy. His tone didn’t hold any malice, or any kind of indication that he was bringing up Amelie to win an argument. No, it was genuine concern for her. 

She breathed out through her nose.  _ You need to be a little less negative about people’s intentions.  _

“...Yes, I’ve been thinking about Amelie. I remembered once we saw that newspaper and I saw Gerard’s name in another article.”

“So even knowing all of that, you won’t let yourself do anything?”

Angela turned away, looking back down at her desk. “I have to.”

“Damn,” Mccree sighed. “You’re a hell of a lot stronger than me.” 

The doctor sighed. “That’s not it, Mccree.”

The two were plunged into silence, and Angela knew that she needed to change the topic. “Hey, you know my Caduceus armor?”

Mccree raised an eyebrow. “You mean the one you shoved under the bed?”

Angela gave him a deadpan look. “No, I mean the other set hanging in the shower.”

She gestured over the snickering cowboy to her sketches. “I’m thinking of making some minor reconstructions to create a disguise with it, so no one will connect it with the Angela of this time.”

”Really? What kind of disguise can you form with that stuff?” He raised his eyebrows as he leaned over her shoulder, only for his eyes to widen at the sight of her drawings. 

Angela’s smile widened. “How about an omnic?”

He was silent for a moment, before he suddenly leaned back and sat on the edge of the bed. “You sure about that? It’ll definitely draw attention.”

”I’m more worried about some cleaning lady finding the armor and thinking I stole it,” Angela continued drawing. 

He huffed. “Suppose that’s true. Do you need help with the construction, then?”

“I think I should do this on my own, considering the delicate tech inside the armor. I will need tools, though, and if it’s possible, a better workshop. Unfortunately, those are far too expensive-”

Mccree nodded. “Alright. How about I do some shopping runs, and you give me a list of the supplies you need for this project?”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “What about the money?”

The cowboy gave a wolfish grin, and the doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Mccree, you can’t possibly expect to steal  _ that  _ much money-“

“Nah, I’m just messin’ with you. Wanted to see your reaction,” Mccree waved, laughing. Angela glared at him, but she chuckled a little, too. “I was thinking of getting a job, actually.”

“Really? What job?”

“Not sure yet. I am planning for some minor things though, don’t want to leave too much of a paper trail.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, I’m gonna be heading out on a job search tomorrow, so maybe you give me a list of things to get, just so I can see where I can find them?”

Angela looked down at her piece of paper, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “No supplies or tools for now, I think. What I need is a proper workshop, because I can’t break apart this armor silently.”

Mccree nodded. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

  
  


The cowboy shut the door behind him, breathing a sigh. He wasn’t too keen on waking up early in the morning, but the fewer the witnesses, the better. 

_ Think, Mccree, think,  _ he ran his fingers through his hair.  _ What would an injured Gerard be doing at this time? _

He pulled the small sheet of paper Angela had given him, listing various things she wanted him to find. 

He knew officials of Overwatch were taken care of in the official headquarters, something he had no hope of infiltrating. However, Mccree also knew that Gerard hated spending time in hospitals and would try to get out as soon as possible. 

_ Which just leaves me to figure out if he’s already managed to weasel his way to a reluctant release of his hospital stay.  _

Mccree remembered how exacerbated Gerard had described the doctors at his insistence that he was alright, and how he’d compromised with the doctors at staying in Switzerland and near the headquarters. Amelie, the wonderful woman, had decided to fly in and stay with him once she heard the news. 

_ That means I’m looking for someplace romantic where a couple would want to spend time at. If they’re there, then that answers my first question.  _

A couple of stolen shirts and a tourist affectation got Mccree a map in english, a greater relief than he expected. He sat on a nearby bench, his legs crossed as he circled the listed food stops that would interest the Lacroixs. He bit on the edge of the marker.  _ Low chance they’d be there, but it’s a start, and it’ll guarantee I’ll be walking quite a bit.  _

He pulled out the list of things Angela had written for him. He’d need to keep an eye out for those, too. 

The day was overcast but warm, and Mccree found himself at the end of the day far less sweaty than he’d expected, but far more frustrated. He unfolded his map again, looking at the locations he’d checked. While it was entirely possible that he’d missed the Lacroixs at any of them, a quick glance quickly showed that Gerard would have never visited it in the first place. 

A part of him just wanted to break into the Overwatch Headquarters down the street for the sake of a more straightforward source of information, despite its idiocy. The sun was beginning to set, and it seemed he was just as distant from the Lacroixs as any average civilian, even though he’d worked with one closely and was also a  _ time traveler _ .

Mccree began casually strolling back. He’d kept his swiping to a minimum so as not to attract attention, and as such was able to spend more of his time actually sightseeing, rather than pretending to keep people off guard.

The cowboy stopped, his head turned upward to stare at the small street sign painted in pastel colors. On it was a cute little teacup, and even though Mccree couldn’t read the sign, the appearance was enough. 

It was a small building, pressed between a large restaurant and an empty alley that garnered minimal attention. That impression continued as the cowboy opened the door and a charming little bell echoed through the mostly empty cafe. 

Sitting near the window on the far end, enjoying their beverages and not acknowledging Mccree’s arrival were the Lacroixs. Amelie was smiling as she told a story he couldn’t hear, holding a cup of tea in her hands and mixing a sweetener in. Even with his back to Mccree, the cowboy could tell that Gerard was enraptured, leaning forward and nearly spilling his mug of coffee and whipped cream. 

Mccree ignored the lump in his throat at the sight of them, keeping the same goofy attitude as he awkwardly tried to order some coffee with neither him nor the cashier speaking a common language. Eventually he got his order, and he seated himself on the other side of the small cafe, not wanting to bother the Lacroixs. 

Luckily, it wasn’t far enough to not hear them. 

Mccree pulled out his phone, pretending to swipe through it as if he were reading something: time travel had proven to be more annoying when it came to the new phone models, as neither he nor Angela had the proper cords to charge their devices anymore. As such, he’d been trying to use his as little as humanly possible. With any hope, anyone looking at Mccree would just see the reflection of the phone and not realize that the thing was off.

He heard Amelie sigh. “I missed this.”

Gerard hummed. “Yes, it has been a while.”

“How are those injuries holding up, Gerard? You sure you’re not pushing yourself for today?”

“I’m not  _ that  _ fragile, Amelie,” Mccree could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Really? Because I remember you once crying over some insects you found because, and I quote, ‘It probably hurts to be inside out all the time.’”

“I was drunk then! You can’t count that!” Gerard protested as Amelie giggled. 

He hated intruding on what was definitely a private moment - why else would they pick such an empty place? - but all Mccree had to do was think of the Amelie he knew in the future to keep him going. Despite the burning on his tongue, Mccree finished the drink as soon as he could. Leaving the cafe once Gerard and Amelie left would be too suspicious. 

He followed the happy couple for the rest of the day, only stopping once they went back to the headquarters after watching a lovely sunset. 

Things had really gone down the shitter for his future, hadn’t it?

_ I wonder if either of them noticed me following them.  _ He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips.  _ That would cause a more significant change in the timeline, right? _

He chewed on the inside of his cheek.  _ I guess if the timeline doesn’t fall apart, that could be a sign I haven’t been spotted yet.  _ He sighed, grabbing a lighter from his pocket. He felt his fingers brush up against a piece of paper, and pulled it out to see the small list that Angela had written out for him. Well, he wouldn’t necessarily call it a list, just a note with a single direction: “ _ FIND GOOD PLACE TO WORK.” _

He gave a deep sigh, looking back down at the map.  _ Not really something touristy, right? Which means there probably won’t be much I can do as an english speaker.  _

_ Damn.  _

  
  


Angela hadn’t realized that she’d fallen asleep until she felt something tap on her shoulder and she had to pull her cheek from her arm. She slowly sat up to look at Mccree, who raised an eyebrow at her sleepy state. “There a comfortable pillow under there I’m not seeing?”

Angela gave him a deadpan look, and Mccree gave a more stern glare. “We’ve barely been here a week, and you’ve already established a terrible sleep schedule.”

“I’m doing work, Mccree,” the doctor yawned, gesturing to all the various trinkets on her desk. 

The cowboy blinked, apparently not noticing them until she pointed them all out. “Are those…?”

“Bandages, water skins, extra tools for sewing wounds, some antibiotics, disinfectant, yadda yadda…” Angela pointed at each item as she listed them out. “They’re hidden in compartments inside the suit.”

“You pulled  _ all of that  _ from the  _ suit _ ?”

“Yes.”

Mccree whistled. “Damn. That thing looks skin tight though, doesn’t it?”

“I have my ways.”

“You know that just makes it sound like you put this stuff up your ass, right?”

Angela groaned, putting her face in her hands. “You didn’t have to take it there, Mccree.”

“You didn’t have to be vague about it.”

“Was this the only reason you woke me up?”

“I was actually planning to get you to a proper bed, but I also wanted to give you this,” Angela blinked as a small scrap of paper was waved in her face. She took it, reading over the names in confusion. They were titles in German, though it was a little difficult to see the pattern between all of them. She looked up at Mccree in confusion, who scratched the back of his neck. 

“See, funny thing about finding mechanics is that none of them had any english titles, so I tried my best. I got places that I saw had a wrench or something on the front, and I found the German words for things like “fix” and “repairs” and wrote down all the ones that I could find. You’ll probably need to come tomorrow to actually ask to work there, though.”

Angela gave a little laugh, now noticing the common elements between all of them. She couldn’t blame herself for not seeing it sooner though, as some of the stores that Mccree picked out were things like plastic surgery, book renovations, and even an animal hospital. She looked back up at Mccree with a bemused smile, and he frowned at the reaction. “What? Are none of them mechanics?”

“No, you did mostly fine, Mccree,” Angela waved as she sat up, feeling her knees and back pop a little with the movement. “I’ll go with you tomorrow.”

Mccree gave a somewhat tired nod, though his gaze still held suspicion that Angela was hiding something from him about the list. The look was interrupted with a yawn, and he rubbed his face as Angela began picking out some clothes to change into. “G’night, Angela.”

The doctor nodded, going into the bathroom to change, seeing the cowboy collapse onto the couch without even taking his shoes off just before she closed the door. “Goodnight.”

  
  


Angela eventually explained the list to Mccree as they walked through the streets, crossing off their different options and laughing at the cowboy’s embarrassment. 

Nearly all of the mechanics had been crossed off the list for a variety of reasons. Many didn’t accept Angela’s request and others were a bit too nosy for their own good. The only one that was neither was a young sprightly woman with dark hair named Kirsten.

The mechanic tilted her head. “How much space do you need?” Her German was fast and words slipped into each other, making even Angela hesitate to understand what she was saying.

“Ah, not much. I just don’t want to bother my neighbors with the noise. Not to mention I need some tools.”

Kirsten laughed, nodding. “I understand. I have a small room in the back, I mainly use it for storage, but there’s a desk there that you could work on. Would that be enough?”

“It’d be perfect,” Angela gave a wide smile. 

“Okay, I’m fine with this then. However, I have a few conditions,” Kirsten held up a finger. “One of us has to be here if you’re working. So you can’t come on our days off and you can’t stay after closing time.”

“Makes sense.”

“Second: If you want to take a tool home, you can only take two at a time, and write down which you took so I can keep track. And if you steal or break anything, you’re paying for it, got it?’

“Alright.”

“Finally, that man behind you,” Kirsten pointed over Angela’s shoulder, and she looked to see that the mechanic was pointing at Mccree, who had mostly been lingering on the sidelines of the conversation (considering he didn’t understand the German), but perked up in confusion at suddenly being the center of attention. “Who is he?”

“Oh, that’s Matt. He’s...a boyfriend.”

“Does he also want to work in my shop?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Very well,” Kirsten nodded, holding out a hand. “It’s a deal.”

Angela’s smile widened as she took the hand and shook it. “Thank you so much for this.”

“It’s not a problem,” The mechanic grinned, and pointed at the hoodie as she suddenly switched to well articulated english. “By the way, I like your jacket. It’s funny.”

Angela’s eyebrows shot up and she definitely heard a “what” from Mccree behind her. “Um...thank you, he got it for me,” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. 

Kirsten laughed a little, before stepping forward and shaking Mccree’s hand. “It was nice to meet you. You have excellent taste in fashion.”

“Uh…” Mccree struggled to form a response as Kirsten turned back to Angela. 

“When are you planning to use my shop?” She tilted her head, switching back to German. 

“Oh, um, as soon as I possibly can.”

Kirsten nodded. “Very well. Here’s a card, call me once you’re coming.”

Angela stepped back to Mccree’s side as the two watched the mechanic stride back into her shop with a casual wave. “Well, that was a bit rude, don’t you think?” Angela murmured quietly as soon as she thought Kirsten had walked far enough away. “Leaving you out of the conversation like that for seemingly no reason.”

“I’m sure she’s got her excuses. Besides, that’s not the important part.”

“What?” Angela looked back at Mccree, who now had a smug grin. 

“She said she liked the shirt.” 

Angela elbowed him in the side and the cowboy chuckled. “Oh! Hey, don’t hit an injured person!”

“I healed those injuries in your side long ago, Mccree.”

“No, I’m talking about my arm!” He gestured to the sling. Angela elbowed him again. “Ow! Damn it!” 

Once their laughter died down, Mccree gave a relieved sigh. “So should I expect to not see you as much from now on?”

“I can’t work late at night there, so expect me to bring my projects home.”

“Ah, of course, you still need a place that’ll allow you to pass out at your desk. How silly of me.”

Angela smiled. 

  
  


The following month began to pass by more quickly as the two of them settled into their own routines: Mccree would spend his time trying his best to keep track of the Lacroixs, and Angela would move from the garage to their hotel room working on her new disguise each day. She was sometimes curious about what Mccree got up to all day, but he waved it off as just exploring the area to pass the time, as well as grab some extra money. Angela gave him a concerned look at that last part. “You should be careful; if too many people lose their money around here they’re going to start looking.”

“Don’t worry, I’d already been thinking about getting a job to try and avoid it. The problem is, I’m not really sure who’d accept me.”

Angela pursed her lips. “What about Kirsten?”

Mccree hummed. “Yeah, I guess she might be willing to give me a few things to do around the garage.”

“I’d prefer it over rampant thievery.”

“You don’t approve of a lot of the things I do, Angela.”

“There’s a reason for that, cowboy.”

Mccree barked a short laugh as he opened the door to the hotel room. “Speaking of which, try not to use our funds for more of those awful cigarettes-!” Angela called after Mccree as he shut the front door, popping his neck. 

_ Had a close call with the Lacroixs last night,  _ Mccree thought back to the restaurant, where the full tables had resulted in the cowboy getting seated at a table that was worryingly close to where the couple had been eating, and he spent the majority of the night stressed that he’d be recognized or noticed. Neither of them reacted or even spoke with him though, and even though he couldn’t be entirely sure, he also took the lack of a collapsed timeline as a good sign that he hadn’t messed up too badly yet. 

_ Yeah, it’s probably for the best that I set up a little more distance again, _ A part of his gut itched at the idea, a niggling paranoia in his mind wondering if by horrible coincidence Amelie would be attacked the moment Mccree had decided to back off. He shook the idea from his head.  _ Being undetected is more important. Time travel shenanigans and yadda yadda.  _

As it currently stood, Mccree’s plans certainly were to interfere with the timeline, but one thing that he  _ absolutely  _ did not want was to be spotted and especially not recognized while doing so. He may have felt that Angela was being too stubborn on affecting the timeline, but even he could agree that being recognized in the wrong time period was probably not the best for time and space.  _ Just try and relax more today, Mccree. You need to take a break from all of this.  _ He sighed, running a hand down his face. 

  
  


He didn’t take a break. The most he did was look like an extremely tense customer of a cafe near where the Lacroixs were spending their day, this time with some other friends. He was exhausted when he made his way back to the hotel, late at night. 

“‘M home,” Mccree mumbled, the door to their room creaking as he pushed it open. The room was entirely dark, save for a lamp stationed at the desk on the other side of the room. He could see a dark shape slumped over the desk, softly snoring.

Mccree raised an eyebrow, walking over to the unconscious Angela. Sure enough, her face was buried in her arms, her work scattered all around her. With how unorganized everything still was, he doubted she’d intended to fall asleep; she usually tidied things up once she was done for the day. 

On the desk he could see two parts to the mask: it was starting to come together really well, and he could see that Angela had made sure to avoid having the design be too similar to either Genji’s modifications or the Caduceus armor. It had taken a lot of parts for just the mask though, and he wondered what she was going to do for the rest of the outfit. 

He sighed, seeing the dark circles already starting to form under her eyes. He could see more and more shadows under his own the more days they spent here: the time travel had been jarring, it hurt to see the non-damaged Swiss HQ every time he stepped outside, and the quality of the hotel was absolutely terrible. At the very least the loud neighbors had left, but the rest of the complaints still stood. 

As quietly as he could, Mccree pulled off a blanket from the bed, gently draping it over Angela’s shoulders. He’d want to get a pillow underneath her, but her face seemed practically fused to her arms and he’d definitely wake her up. 

Angela shifted under the new weight on her back, her face screwed tight. They flitted open, her eyes half processing what was around her. She sat up a little straighter, wincing as Mccree heard a few pops emanate from the movement, and looked at the blanket wrapped around her, blinking in confusion. 

“Mccree?” She mumbled. 

“You need to make sure you fall asleep in the bed, or at least the couch, Angela. Just looking at the position you were in made my back hurt.”

Angela took a deep breath through her nose, lifting her arms and stretching a little. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” She murmured, her words slurring together a little. 

“Because you act like you don’t need to,” Mccree snapped, before falling back on the bed behind him. 

He heard Angela take another deep breath, and he looked up to see that her gaze had become a little more lucid, and an expression of concern had begun to mar her features. 

“Is something wrong, Mccree?”

“Just the usual, doctor.”

“Which is?”

The cowboy sighed, closing his eyes. “How long are we gonna be stuck in the past?”

Angela didn’t immediately respond, and he peeked an eye open to see her staring off into the distance. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you know when Winston makes that chrono accelerator for Tracer?”

“I don’t  _ know,  _ Mccree. We’ll know once there’s news coverage for it. I don’t think it was too long after you guys attacked Antonio.”

“But it’ll still take time to steal valuable tech like that, not to mention the modifications it’d even need to send us back. I mean, if Sombra actually was intending to send us to the future and messed it up, do we even have any hope at all?”

Angela didn’t respond, simply sighing and leaning back in the chair, her arms crossed. “I...have been entertaining an idea this past month,” Mccree raised his head, curious. Angela continued. “It’s still crazy, and it’s still incredibly risky, but I don’t think we can just wait for the rest of the timeline to catch up with us.”

“Really? And why is that such a non-option, considering the whole paradox thing and all?”

Angela gave a resigned huff. “Because I doubt I’d be strong enough to last through eight years of this without going insane.”

Mccree raised his eyebrows in shock. “So...what’s this crazy plan of yours?”

“If we can find a way to influence Overwatch as indirectly as possible, we can open up an opportunity to not only get the chrono accelerator tech more easily, but we could even influence them to develop it themselves.”

“You’re right. That sounds awful risky.”

“I know. I’m thinking of maybe getting us a way to send messages to Overwatch while still remaining untraceable, like hacking into their communications.”

“I’ve worked with those kinds of things before. I could handle that, so you can keep working on that disguise.”

“That would be amazing, but it’s not a plan set in stone yet. It still feels too direct to me.”

“Alright, understandable.”

The two fell into silence as Mccree leaned back onto the bed, his arms spread out. He swallowed. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell Angela, about what he’d been really getting up to the past month, about his vague plan for saving the Lacroixs. 

But more importantly, he needed to know how Angela was feeling, how in the world she was getting through all of this. Or at the very least, how she  _ wasn’t.  _ But he didn’t even know how to start. 

“So,” He saw Angela raise her head in the corner of his eye. “This situation’s pretty fucked up, I might say.”

“Yes, I’d say we’re in agreement on that,” The doctor hummed, tired. 

“Can’t say I’m adjusting well to it.”

“I can’t say I am either. I honestly hate all of this.”

“Really?”

“Of course, really,” Angela sighed. “Why do you sound so surprised.”

“I dunno, you’ve just seem so much more...unfazed by all of this, I guess.”

“To be honest, I thought the same for you.”

Mccree blinked, sitting up. “What?”

“You’re always out, trying to do something to help the both of us.” The doctor wasn’t looking at him. 

“Angela, I’ve been a mess.”

“And I’ve refused to take a walk outside!” She waved her hands. “Every time I go to Kirsten’s garage I keep my eyes on the ground, because...because…”

“Because you don’t want to see the Overwatch Headquarters still standing.”

Angela sighed, closing her eyes. She tapped her fingers on the desk and seemed to be counting her breaths. 

Mccree gave a small smile. “You think we can both agree that neither of us have adjusted to this well?”

She laughed a little. “I’ll also agree that that’s an understatement.”

“You know what this whole thing reminds me of?” Mccree looked around the room. 

“What?”

“When I’m rewatching my favorite movie,  _ The Boy in the Night. _ ”

“You mean that bleak neo-western?”

“That’s the one,” Mccree chuckled. “Towards the end of the movie, the main character fails to realize that a bomb was planted in the bank, which goes off and kills half the cast, along with economically ruining the town. It’s an upsetting surprise the first time you view it, but watching it a second time is almost worse. You see all the characters come together for a final confrontation, you hear the triumphant music playing behind them, and you’re left with this weird mix of guilt, tension, and sadness with the knowledge that none of it’s going to work out.”

Angela raised her eyebrows. “That...was surprisingly insightful. I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect that to work as well as it did.”

Mccree tossed a pillow at her. “Screw you. I’m always insightful.”

The doctor smiled, catching the pillow and putting it on her lap. “It really is like a movie though. We’re just watchers, unable to do anything but wait for the film to end.”

Mccree let out a long, frustrated sigh, tilting his head back. She saw Angela raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t immediately respond.  _ Am I really doing this?  _ “I saw Amelie and Gerard a couple weeks ago.”

“What?” Angela straightened in alarm.

“Relax, I didn’t approach them. It’s just...seeing what a happy couple they used to be, I guess it’s been fucking me up for a while.”

Angela furrowed her eyebrows in thought, before she suddenly sat up from the chair and fell on the bed to Mccree’s side, still holding the pillow. Mccree lied down on the bed. “Amelie had always been a bit weird, hadn’t she?”

“In what way?”

“Well, she was always technically a civilian, but with how well everyone in both Overwatch and Blackwatch knew her, she was practically an active member.”

“The Lacroixs certainly had a presence like that. Things really did change for the worse once they were both gone.”

“I wonder if Gabe would have even attacked Antonio if Gerard hadn’t been so badly injured from it.”

“Commander Reyes never had  _ that  _ much favoritism. At the very least, he wouldn’t have taken Antonio out personally if Gerard hadn’t been hurt.”

Mccree hummed, and the two fell into silence. 

He nervously knitted his fingers together, taking a deep breath. “What do you remember of the night Amelie was taken? I only remember waking up and hearing a rushed report after the fact.”

Angela sighed. “I...don’t remember the specific date, just that it wasn’t too long after Antonio died. I’d always assumed his death had angered Talon and that was their revenge.”

“Yeah, I could see them doing that,” Mccree grunted, positioning his hands under his head. 

“Something I do remember is that they’d been attacked in an opera house.”

“They were watching an opera? Never thought Gerard was into those kinds of things.”

“Amelie always liked them more, but both Lacroixs like to indulge in some more high-class elegance from time to time.”

Mccree huffed a brief chuckle as Angela continued. “But anyway, the opera house had been attacked while they were there. The lights had been killed, and the two were ambushed. When the dust cleared, Amelie was gone.”

“Fuck,” Mccree rubbed a hand down his face. “Now I remember. We were wondering how Talon had gotten hold of the Lacroix’s whereabouts. With the hindsight that there were tons of plants…”

He sighed. “I’m so sorry, Angela.”

“Don’t be. You don’t have anything to-”

Angela was cut off as she let out a loud yawn, stretching her arms. The cowboy smiled. “Finally getting tired, huh?”

She smacked his leg. “Shut up.” She stood up, popping her back. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Thanks,” Mccree draped an arm over his eyes. “‘Cause I don’t think I’d be able to move if I wanted to.”

“Have fun sleeping in that  _ supremely  _ comfortable sling.”

“I will!” He blearily called back. 

His vision faded away with the quiet sounds of Angela’s tired giggling. 

  
  


“I think Gabriel’s getting tired of helping you escape from the doctor’s watch.”

“You’ve seen them, Amelie! They’re convinced I’ll fall apart in the wind-”

The second half of Gerard’s sentence and Amelie’s response were suddenly cut off. The couple had decided to visit the small cafe again, and to avoid looking too suspicious Mccree had decided to eat at the adjacent restaurant and take an outdoor table. Unfortunately, that meant that Mccree was stuck between trying his best to read lips through the window without making it too obvious, or catching snippets of the conversation whenever someone opened the door (though even then, the obnoxious bell attached still made it harder to hear).

Mccree glanced up as he saw the Lacroixs move in the corner of his eyes, watching them get up from their seats and make their way outside. They held each other’s hands, and Gerard gave Amelie a peck on the cheek as they opened the door. 

“-I’m glad you’re doing alright through all of this. I know everything has been...stressful.”

Amelie gently elbowed him in the side. “Idiot, I should be saying that to you.”

Gerard laughed. “Let me finish! It’s just, you’re incredible, you know that?”

“Go on,” Amelie hummed. 

“So I thought I’d give you a little surprise,” Gerard grinned. 

Mccree heard Amelie gasp, and he glanced over to see that the couple had stopped walking, Amelie’s hands over her mouth as she stared at the two tickets in Gerard’s hand. 

“Are those…?”

“Tickets to  _ Don Giovanni  _ for this weekend. You mentioned wanting to see something at the opera house downtown, right?”

Mccree forgot that he was eating an olive until he accidentally inhaled it and he realized he suddenly couldn’t breathe. He hunched over the table, hacking, and soon enough a nearby waitress had grabbed him by his midsection and wrenched her arms into his stomach. The olive popped out, flying across the table, and suddenly Mccree could breathe again. He sat back down, taking deep breaths, and rested his forehead on the table. 

“Um, sir?” He could hear the waitress’ concerned voice in his ear, along with the murmuring of the other tables. “Are you alright?”

Mccree sighed deeply and gave her a thumbs up, his head still on the table. “Thank you so much ma’am.”

“It’s not a problem.” He heard a clink of glass and her footsteps walking off, and he glanced up to see that she’d given him a glass of water. He looked over to see that the Lacroixs had moved past and either ignored or not noticed Mccree’s little scene. He quickly sat up, leaning back in his chair, and rubbed a hand over his face.

_ They’re going this weekend.  _

_ Fuck.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a weirdly difficult struggle to write, I'm hoping that the next one will be easier since things are going to ramp up a little.


	5. Panic! At the Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Series of Unfortunate Mistakes befalls our lil' westerner.

“Hey, Angela,” the doctor lifted her head from her work to see McCree standing in the doorway. “I’m heading out again. I need a smoke.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been having a lot of smokes lately.”

“Can you blame me?” McCree grunted.

“I suppose I can’t. Go have fun with your cancer sticks, I’ll still be here.”

She heard a bark of laughter as she turned back to her desk. The door loudly creaked as it swung closed, and Angela felt something in her stop. 

“Wait-McCree!” she called back suddenly. The door stopped closing an inch away from the doorway. The cowboy’s head peeked back through. 

“Yes?”

“I’m planning on cutting my hair soon. I’ve almost completed the head, and now I can tell that my ponytail would only hurt to fit in it.”

“Can’t you just have your hair down?”

“I guess, but you’ve worn helmets, haven’t you? With the hair uncomfortably pressing against your neck. If I’m wearing a disguise like this often, I shouldn’t be uncomfortable, right?”

“Yeah you’ve got a point there. Do you want me to help you cut it?”

“At the very least in the back, where I can’t see it.”

“I’m pretty sure of the two of us,  _ I’m _ the better hairdresser. Unless you were aiming for a ‘rat’s nest’ look?”

McCree laughed as he quickly shut the door to block the plastic coffee cup that Angela had thrown at him. She rolled her eyes, turning back to her work once more. “Asshole.”

She sighed to herself, a smile beginning to appear. Things had finally started turning around once the two of them settled into their own routines, found something to do. She was glad McCree was taking all these walks, doing all these jobs. Not only did he earn money, but she knew it was likely a welcome distraction from their situation, at least a little bit. 

She had a present to give him once he came home, something as a thanks for working with her while dealing with all this, and actually managing to listen to her advice concerning the time travel, even if he didn’t like it. 

 

McCree remembered being surprised when the Lacroixs once told him that they didn’t visit the opera often. They held such an upper class lifestyle, and French people loved operas, didn’t they? (Gerard had given him quite the smack upside the head for that comment.) Not to mention their black limousine seemed practically built to stop at the front of the opera house and look good while doing so. 

This part of the city was better funded, and as such the streets were brightly lit and marginally more annoying to hide in, leaving him crouched in the dumpster alleys. While it definitely wasn’t the grossest thing he’d ever done for a mission, he had to figure out how to explain the smell to Angela back home. 

He peeked around the corner, seeing the back of the limo as it parked in front of the opera house to to drop the couple off.  _ God I wish I could smoke right now. It’d help drown out the stench, at least.  _

How McCree had ever gotten away with smoking during missions while under Blackwatch, he never knew. The cowboy had a niggling suspicion that Reyes had known about it and just let it happen, though nowadays it was hard to believe that he was ever that nice of a person, considering where he’d ended up. 

Amelie stepped out of the limousine first, showing off her simple but elegant violet dress that hugged her waist and had a slit at her knees. Gerard stepped out next, dressed in the same suit McCree had seen him wear dozens of times in Blackwatch Headquarters. He remembered having a minor argument with Lacroix, asking what he called a fancy outfit if wearing a nice black suit was his casual outfit. Gerard had simply twitched his moustache and responded “A red lapel flower,” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Sure enough, as Gerard stepped out of the limousine, McCree could see a red spot pinned to his chest. 

Gerard took hold of Amelie’s hand, and even from this distance McCree could see the immeasurable amount of affection between the two, with the way he squeezed her hand and how she rubbed the wedding ring on his. It made something in McCree’s chest tighten, and he ducked back around the corner, aware that Gerard could spot him now. 

“Do you think you could head into the opera house without me?” McCree perked up at hearing Gerard’s voice again. “I’d like to have a little smoke before it starts.”

McCree couldn’t hear Amelie’s response, but she seemed to be protesting. He peeked around the corner to see Gerard murmuring something to her, before Amelie gave a small nod and began heading into the building on her own. 

_ What? No no no no, you can’t leave her alone Gerard.  _ McCree’s thoughts became more frantic as Gerard casually walked over to the building’s side to lean against for a smoke, pulling a cigarette out and putting it into his lips.  _ Shit, is  _ this _ the moment that Talon attacks?  _ He looked up, wondering if there were Talon agents watching right now, seeing that Gerard and Amelie were separated and moving into action.  _ I need to get closer to her. _

McCree took one more peek around the corner, before ducking back in with a curse as he saw that Gerard was now leaning on the wall between the alley and the entrance to the house. McCree gave a quiet sigh, running a hand over his face.  _ Suppose I’ll have to break in through the back. Hope that it won’t delay me too much. God I fucking hate Talon so mu- _

The cowboy was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts at the feeling of something gripping the front of his shirt, and he could only flutter his eyes open for a moment before he suddenly found himself crashing into the alley wall, the hand still holding onto him with a steel grip, its knuckles digging into his chest. He wheezed, suddenly unable to breath, but he slowly forced his eyes open. 

Pinning him against the wall with his large frame and dark glower was none other than Gerard Lacroix himself. He whipped out a blade and held it to the cowboy’s throat. McCree had seen him like this before, when interrogating agents or taking out others in a mission. It was all strangely nostalgic, after seeing it from a distance for so long. He had never faced that brutal professionalism himself, not even back when Reyes first hired him. 

He was now remembering how much a valued agent Gerard was.

“Who do you work for? I know you’ve been following my wife and I for the past week, so don’t try to act stupid.” in the darkness of the alley and the shock of hitting the wall, it was a little hard to see Gerard’s face, but the cowboy could guess it was twisted in fury by the tone of his voice. 

McCree groaned in pain, his breath still coming back to him. “Good evenin’ to you too.” 

The knife drew a little closer. Part of McCree knew that it was probably a bluff, as he remembered how Gerard never killed a pinned man unless he was an active threat. Still, feeling the cold metal on his throat was nerve wracking, not to mention he felt the need to keep glancing around to make sure that the timeline was still stable. 

At the very least, nothing was collapsing in on itself into a void between space and time, so it seemed that he hadn’t been recognized yet. 

“Don’t play games with me,” Gerard growled. “Now  _ who do you work for _ ?” 

“Currently unemployed, but I’m thinking of getting into petsitting,” he said before he could stop himself. The knife pressed harder against his throat. 

“Okay okay no one!” McCree yelled out quickly. “It’s not anybody, god dammit!”

Gerard stopped pushing the blade in, narrowing his eyes. 

“Look, I don’t work for anyone, I  _ swear _ ,” he heard a shuffle nearby. Gerard seemed to have missed it. “But your wife is in danger right now.”

Shadows began appearing at the edges of the alley. Gerard still seemed to not notice them. “Then what’re your plans for coming here, stalking me and my wife?”

“See, now that’s a good question,” McCree glanced over again, seeing something come into view and approach from behind. They were wearing bulletproof armor, and from the red lights of their goggles McCree could easily tell who they worked for. They raised their guns. “I want you to cover your ears.”

Gerard blinked. “Wha-”

McCree whipped out Peacekeeper from the sling, aimed it over Gerard’s shoulder and firing at the Talon agent. Gerard ducked from the noise, holding a hand over his damaged ear, and McCree winced in sympathy. He glanced back to the Talon agent, who didn’t seem to be getting back up. Gerard straightened himself again, which McCree commended, since he knew that Gerard’s ear was still ringing, yet he was clearly choosing to ignore it. He looked at Peacekeeper with wide eyes. “You were armed this whole time?”

“Do you trust me now?”

Gerard glared at him, before glancing at the sling in suspicion. “Is that arm really broken?”

McCree couldn’t help it. He gave a fox-like grin. “Technically it is.”

The conversation suddenly broke off as a loud crashing sound came from inside the Opera house, making both men flinch. McCree looked over to see the lights on the front blinking out and he could hear people starting to scream inside. Gerard whipped his head around at the building, his eyes widening at the gunshots now emanating from inside too. “Amelie!”

“They’ve cut the power!” McCree called, sprinting toward the entrance. He saw a flash of Gerard’s confused expression before hearing footsteps behind him, letting him know that Gerard was following. 

He burst through the heavy double doors into the dark, empty void of the theatre. He scrabbled through the hallways before finding a big, fancy-feeling door and bursting through into an open chamber. A flash of red entered McCree’s vision, and he whirled around to punch the nearby Talon soldier. He doubted he’d be able to shoot his gun without a proper light source and risk hitting an unseen civilian. 

“You got a light?” He called to no direction in particular, and a voice came in from his left.  

“Just a flashlight, just-” Gerard paused at the sounds of some punching. “ _ -hold on. _ ”

A tiny  _ click  _ in the racket of the opera house, and a column of light appeared in front of the two. Several Talon agents were illuminated in front of them, all turning their heads simultaneously. The one Talon agent in the back of the group swung their body with more force as they turned, revealing something draped in their arms, unconscious. 

“Amelie!” The two men yelled at once (Gerard took a moment to look at the cowboy, surprised), and McCree immediately brought up his pistol and shot the nearest Talon soldier while Gerard charged a different one. 

The furthest soldier shifted his grip on Amelie, holding up a grappling hook and firing it up. 

“Oh don’t you dare!” McCree shout, closing an eye and taking aim. He paused for a fraction of a second on the soldier, before suddenly shifting his aim lower and firing. 

The bullet went straight through the shin, and he swore he heard the soldier curse before they crumpled to the ground, Amelie tumbling down as well. 

“They’re trying to take her away, Lacroix!” McCree called.

He didn’t get a verbal response, but when he glanced over he caught a brief look of Gerard’s face and the pure determination and rage marring his features as he cut through each soldier. McCree could tell that Gerard would cut him down too if he got in the way. He stayed back a little, even if Gerard was his only light source. 

Suddenly, in all the bedlam, he heard a high-pitched, robotic whine, and a single red line cut through the room. It drifted across the walls to eventually settle on Gerard. 

“Sniper!” McCree yelled, lurching forward to do something, but he was too far away. He heard a gunshot coupled with a cry of pain, and he sawGerard stumble and hit the ground. 

“Shit shit shit shit,” McCree ran over to Gerard’s side and quickly pulling him behind a seat. The flashlight had been dropped, and as such could barely make out Gerard’s figure. His breathing was alright, if his string of muttered curses were any indication. 

“She just got the leg,” Gerard grunted. 

McCree glanced up at the searching red light, swallowing. “You called in for reinforcements, right Lacroix?”

“Yeah, and they’re taking their sweet ass time to get here.”

“You got an ETA?”

Gerard didn’t respond, and McCree sighed. Of course, he forgot he was still a random ass stranger to these people, a stranger that also knew a lot about Talon. He was a shady figure to Gerard, and if he knew when company would arrive then he had a better chance of escaping without giving Gerard any answers. 

“Y’know what, forget it. Look, I can’t bandage up your leg in this darkness but-”

“I need to get to Amelie!” Gerard hissed, sitting up. 

McCree pushed him back beneath the seat, crouching low so his head wasn’t visible to the sniper. “I know, I know,” He whispered through gritted teeth. “I’m goin’ after her. See if you can fix your leg and catch up with me in the meantime.”

“You think I’m letting you out of my sight?!”

“You think we should let Amelie out of ours?”

Gerard growled, and McCree could feel a burning glare between his eyes. “Just go.”

McCree nodded, feeling himself fall into old motions at the orders, and immediately dashed to the nearest seat. He peaked up over the seats for a few moments, before ducking back in when the red light got too close. The soldier that had Amelie wasn’t in sight, but fortunately no visible exits were where he was last, which meant he was still probably in the theatre. 

McCree creeped toward the theatre’s side, and as he got closer he could start to make out a quiet murmuring into comms. 

“...don’t know how many agents are really here...need extraction…”

The cowboy pressed his lips into a thin line.  _ Found you.  _

He stepped closer and closer to where the agent was hiding, thumbing over his Peacekeeper to make sure it didn’t need reloading. The dark shape in front of him hadn’t jerked up, meaning that the soldier hadn’t heard him yet. He raised his gun, aiming it at the head. The gunshot and flash were going to attract a hell of a lot of attention, but he couldn’t care less at this point. 

The soldier whirled around, grabbing onto the nozzle and pointing it upwards as it emitted a loud  _ crack  _ and a flash of light - essentially a signal flare in the dark theatre. He saw something in the soldier’s other hand glint in the light, before he felt something more akin to a shove at his metal arm. He wasn’t sure what the hell the soldier was trying to do, but it at least knocked him off his feet. 

_ Motherfucker, he’d spotted me long ago. He was just luring me closer,  _ He cursed himself for not realizing sooner.  _ What kind of agent would leave himself open like that? _

McCree didn’t have more time to berate himself as he saw several pairs of red eyes suddenly approach the two, and the cowboy felt a punch to the jaw from the darkness. His head throbbed and he felt like his neck had twisted as he fell to the ground, but he caught himself and quickly blinked the stars away. He whipped out a leg, feeling his heel impact with something. 

The brief satisfaction of knowing he probably kicked a Talon soldier in the dick was quickly snuffed out as several more beat down on him. It was already obvious that they weren’t trying to kill him - a fact that made him more agitated, considering what he’d seen them do to Amelie. 

A gunshot rang out, making both him and the Talon agents freeze. The only one that moved slumped to the ground with a quiet thump, forgotten. They looked over, and in the darkness McCree could barely make out the shape of someone holding up the gun of a Talon soldier he’d taken down. Gerard shot again, the Talon agents ducking and yelling, and McCree took the window to move out of their way. 

“The place is getting overrun - just take her and go!” He heard one of the Talon soldiers shout. 

Another pair of red eyes nodded, and McCree saw the shadow of a grappling line reach a nearby balcony. A dark shape quickly followed, one too large to be just one person. 

“No!” McCree yelled, his fingers twitching only to realize that Peacekeeper wasn’t in his hand. He whipped his head around, praying that one of the Talon bastards hadn’t gotten the idea to steal it. 

He soon saw a familiar glint of metal between the seats, and he jumped over, ignoring the throbbing in his head and face from the beating he’d just received. He didn’t even care at how badly his hands were hurting, or how he could feel the sling coming undone. He looked back up again, his gun at the ready, only to see that they had already gone. 

“Dammit!” He quickly got to his feet, ignoring how his ankle protested, and ran to the main exit. 

His sling had completely torn, slipping off as he ran, and the awkward weight of his metal arm swung around for all the world to see. He got to the front door, only to see flashes of red and blue through the main window. He screeched to a stop, leaning on the wall. The bright lights were a little overwhelming, and he had to blink a bit to shake away the headache. The cops were all talking to themselves, meaning that they hadn’t seen the Talon agents escaping. Cursing a thousand more times, McCree gritted his teeth and ran from the door. 

The opera house was a bit confusing to navigate, but he still distantly remembered the layout from the last time he was here, investigating the scene of a crime. 

He wondered how that would go for this timeline’s McCree, if it would be any better. 

Eventually he found a back door and burst out of it, the cop cars still visible a little further down the alleyway he found himself in.  

He ran in the opposite direction, his ankle protesting but ultimately ignored. It must have been sprained, but in all honesty McCree would have been fine having it broken, having him captured if it meant Amelie was fine. 

But it wasn’t, he wasn’t, and  _ she  _ wasn’t, and he couldn’t stand himself. He stopped once he was deep in the alley, his head hanging. All he could hear were his heartbeat and his own gasping breaths as everything that had just happened finally settled in like a heart attack.   

He’d failed. Without a doubt. 

He grit his teeth, slamming his fist against the nearby wall. “Dammit!” he didn’t care how he felt his knuckles protest -  _ something _ needed to suffer, even if it was his own hand. 

He kept his fist pressed against the brick for a few more seconds, before he finally relinquished the tension, sighing. He looked down at his red, protesting knuckles, and the distant realization that  _ something  _ would need to heal all of this made him realize how much of a mess he was. 

He looked back down at himself again: The sling had torn in half and was only barely holding on by a single strap. McCree realized why when he noticed the handle of a knife sticking out of the metal arm, right where the sling tore, and the cowboy vaguely remembered being confused back when that Talon soldier had seemingly shoved him. His clothes were ripped to high hell, and he could see some small scratches underneath, but what he felt were the dozen bruises across him. Suddenly every little injury came back to him in a dull ache, and a part of him wanted to just sit down and fall asleep in the alley immediately. 

It was tempting, especially considering that it would put off having to face Angela in this state. He was even considering be found by the police - waking up in a prison cell could arguably be more pleasant than seeing her again. 

  
  


McCree slammed the door closed as hard as he could. He had no hope of keeping everything a secret at this point, so he might as well let out some frustration as well as alert the doctor to his presence. 

“Hello?” He heard her voice call out. “McCree? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He sighed, not keeping the exhaustion from his voice. He leaned against the door, closing it.  

“Are you doing alright?” he heard her getting up. 

“Nope, could be better,” he groaned, sliding down the door a little, closing his eyes and sighing as his injuries whined from the movement. 

“McCree- _ oh my god _ !” the cowboy peaked his eyes open to see the doctor rushing to her desk and quickly returning with some gauze. She flicked on the lights, the both of them blinking a little, and she gently took his arms and began pulling him toward a nearby chair. “Does it hurt to walk?”

“A little,” he admitted.

She set him down on the chair, and made quick work of checking on each of his injuries. Once she determined there wasn’t anything life-threatening, she looked back up at him, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

“I...got into a fight.” Angela stood up and walked across the room to pull out her staff. 

“Muggers?  _ Gott,  _ McCree, where was this?”

“They weren’t muggers, Angela,” he saw her tilt her head as she walked back to him. “The fight was at the opera house. You know, the one downtown?” He elaborated. 

She stopped walking. He looked up, and it was clear in her shocked expression that she’d put the pieces together. “You didn’t.”

“I, uh, I’m really sorry, doctor.”

“What do you mean  _ sorry _ ?! What were you even doing there? That’s nowhere near the hotel, or the garage!”

McCree took a deep breath. “I’ve been following them for a while, Angela.”

“What?!” He flinched at the doctor’s shout, and gestured to the tv. 

Angela followed his finger, and in a few quick strides pushed the power button to display an advertisement. She tightly gripped the dial between her fingers and pushed the thing to maximum volume.  _ Hoo boy,  _ McCree grimaced as she looked back at him, fury in her eyes. “Tell me everything.  _ Now. _ ”

He didn’t hide anything. There was no point in lying anymore.  _ Just think of it like a band-aid,  _ he repeated to himself as he watched Angela’s face slowly morph and distort with more and more anger. He readied up for a screaming match to start once he was done, he could tell that she was in the mood for one. 

“...I tried to stop them, but I fucked up. They managed to kidnap her anyway, and by then the police were arriving. I got out without being spotted, I think...” he looked up at Angela, although not directly at her burning gaze. “And that’s about it.”

He waited for some yelling, like the argument they had when he first brought up the idea. He waited for her to start blowing through the roof. Instead, she just sat in the chair opposite of him, her arms and legs crossed, a dark look on her face. She had remained silent during his story and seemed to be pondering something a few seconds afterward. 

“So all these times you’ve been out,” she started slowly. “It’s just been you stalking the Lacroixs this whole time?”

“That’s what I said,” he nodded, tightly weaving his fingers together. 

“So  _ nothing I said  _ previously, about how these kinds of actions can  _ risk the entire timeline,  _ got through to you?”

McCree pressed his lips into a thin line, but said nothing. She hadn’t been asking for an answer. They both knew he fully understood what was at stake. 

He just hadn’t cared. 

Her other leg suddenly dropped back down to the floor, her shoe clicking on the hard carpet, and she stood up. She strode over to her desk - it was more barren than usual, McCree noted - and grabbed something off of it. She held it up, showing a collection of wires and some tools. 

“I had been planning to surprise you with something when you came back tonight: Kirsten helped out a little, but I’d finally managed to get a hold of the right parts to start repairing your arm,” Angela’s voice was monotone. 

Her fist closed around the metal parts and she made her way to the door in a few quick steps. She didn’t look at him. “That’s not happening anymore.”

With that, she swung open the door, and McCree winced as it slammed shut. He could hear the clicking of Angela’s shoes down the hallway, but his body felt like lead without the injuries, and he didn’t get up to stop her. 

  
  
  


Gerard turned his head at the newcomer of his room in the hospital bed. He was still not supposed to have guests yet, so he felt himself tense for a moment. He quickly calmed down though once he realized that it was none other than the Commander of Blackwatch himself, in his usual outfit save for the guns, and somehow looking even more tired than normal. He had a clipboard in his hands that he kept glancing to.

“How’s the leg holding up, Lacroix?”

Gerard grimaced. “Doctors said it broke the bone, but otherwise passed through just fine. Said I could leave in three weeks, at the earliest.”

Reyes nodded along to what he was saying. “That’s right. They said you needed to take it easy after that, too.”

Gerard huffed through his nose, giving a quick glare to the Commander before turning his head away.  

“That’s about the reaction I expected. So how ‘bout this: we get you over to Moira’s lab and get you ready to join our searches in about a week.”

Gerard blinked, whirling his head back to see a wide grin on the Commander’s face. Gerard responded with a small one in kind. “...Thank you.”

“Not a problem, Lacroix. Now, how do you feel about telling me what you saw last night?” Reyes settled down into the corner chair, pulling out a recorder and clicking it on. “Help us out while you’re still bedridden.” 

Gerard glanced down at the hospital sheets, his brows furrowed. “Amelie and I were heading to the opera, when I noticed that someone had been trailing us for the past hour. I hadn’t spotted him quickly, and only when I arrived did I realize I had seen him before a previous day. I suspect he was following me for the past week, even.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“I grabbed him from the alleyway and tried to question him. I told him I’d spotted him for the past week, and he didn’t deny it. He was surprisingly calm with a knife to the throat, though, so I’m not sure.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He had short brown hair, a thin beard, ,a leather jacket and an arm in a sling. Something was wrong with that arm though, it was far too tough to be flesh. I wasn’t able to see his eyes. Was about as tall as you.”

“What happened to him?”

“Talon arrived, and he fought them.”

“What?” Reyes sat up a little straighter. 

Gerard continued to explain how the rest of the night went - how the stranger had been armed, how he’d been just as desperate to rescue Amelie (even calling her by her first name like he  _ knew _ her), and how he’d vanished just before the police arrived.  

Reyes was watching him through narrowed eyes, biting on a knuckle. “The man you described, it’s reminding me of a report an agent brought in about a month ago. Similar man, seemed to know more about Talon than a normal civilian.”

“Do you think he might be a defected Talon agent?”

The Commander shrugged. “That’s our guess, but we can’t be sure ‘til we bring him in.”

Gerard pressed his lips into a thin line. “There’s actually something more about him that I wanted to bring up with you.”

“What is it?”

Gerard thought back to being stuck in the darkness, a bullet hole in his leg and how that stranger had begun asking about reinforcements and wanted to bandage the wound, like working with Gerard was completely natural. He had gotten stressed, in the darkness of that opera house, and in that stress Lacroix was able to hear the stranger’s fake accent slip a little. 

“He reminded me of someone in Blackwatch. And his gun, it seemed to be of a similar model too. That...man, that often works beside you? The one with the wide-brimmed hat?”

“Jesse?” Reyes blurted, before shaking his head and quickly gathering himself. “He looked like McCree?”

Gerard gave a curt nod. 

“That’s impossible. McCree was with me on the night of the attack.”

“Still, investigate him,” Gerard scratched his chin. “But if he is innocent, do you think it’s possible that this Agent McCree has any relatives?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the four month break, college has been surprisingly time consuming and i can't guarantee that the next chapter will be out soon. 
> 
> I'll see what I can do, though!


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